Bouncing Around
by PurpleMoon3
Summary: Cas finds God. Crack-Fic.
1. Phone Call

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crack Fic**

**Summary: Cas finds God. **

**Part One- Phone Call  
**

Dean wakes up to hear his phone going off. It's on vibrate but it's been going off long enough to have moved to the edge of the table and balance before the next shudder sends it falling. He catches it midair and flicks it open tiredly. There are only two people who would be calling him at this hour, and with one of them asleep in the bed next to him logic dictates who is on the other end of the line.

"Cas? You know what time it is, right?" He whispers irritably. He'd only been asleep for a little over an hour, but all annoyance at the angel drained at Castiel's message.

"_I found God."_

Dean swallows and throws off the covers as he tumbles out of bed to rouse Sam. Castiel keeps talking, urgency and not a small amount of confusion in his voice.

_"He is... I... Would you come and help me speak with him?"_

By now Sam is also awake and listening with the speaker phone option activated. He rubs his eyes. "What? Why would you need us?"

Castiel doesn't respond for a moment, and when he does his voice wavers over the line. "_I have never spoken directly to my father before."_

Despite the seriousness of the situation Dean manages to crack a smile. "A little moral support, huh? We'll be there if we can. Where are you?"

Once again Castiel is silent before responding, dead serious. If it wasn't Cas, the boys would have thought it some elaborate prank. "_Santa Barbara. California. He has assumed the role of a psychic detective." _

End.

**A/N- Because the idea wormed it's way into my head, "What if James Roday played God?" Then I saw the episode of Psych where Zachariah's actor shows up as a new coronor and... I can't help myself. This is going to be a collection of drabbly-things where Shawn is God. I should be studying for mid terms...  
**


	2. Psychic or Psycho?

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crack Fic**

**Part Two- Psychic or Psycho?**

It was a good thing Gus had left on a smoothie/pizza run, because Shawn was certain that if he had been present the cops would be too. While the third man was unknown, yet eerily familiar, the other two were dead ringers for the infamous Winchester Brothers. No one could work with Lassiter without knowing who's-who on the FBI list.

The unofficial detective felt his mouth quirk into something of a smile as he doodled on his notepad. "So, Constantine, Apocalypse here already?"

Shawn gulped as the atmosphere in the room sizzled. It had come out automatic, his brain making the connection between the third man's attire and his childhood comic-books, but he hadn't expected their reaction. _Shit._

The bigger Winchester, who could probably bench press a car if he really _really _wanted to, widened his eyes and stared at Shawn. Then he looked accusingly at him. "You know? And you haven't done _anything_?"

Mentally Shawn reminded himself that according to the FBI it was the smaller Winchester, Dean, who he should be worried about. Then he reminded himself that the FBI had crappy psychic's and he shouldn't trust them. So he leaned away from Sam and reviewed the other two.

Dean looked pretty decent, amusement and apprehension in face, but he wasn't freaking. "Sammy, chill for a second."

"You seem stressed."Shawn bobbed his head, eyes not leaving the younger brother. "You should get a smoothie." He began shifting around papers as he searched for the ever missing office phone. It was typical that out of everything he could remember the location of the phone was a constant blank.

But despite the fact that two known grave robbers (which Shawn didn't have a problem with) and suspected murderers (which he felt were _suspected_ for a reason) were having a very girly silent battle in his office, it was the third one that bothered him. Something about the guy was off, and he absolutely refused to look directly at him. Not to mention there was a nagging pull in the back of his mind that wouldn't go away.

"Father," Shawn blinked at the title and wondered briefly if he eventually developed some method of time travel. The guy was at least ten years older than him. "Lucifer has been freed. We need you."

"You know, when I said the apocalypse was here, I was joking." He narrowed his eyes. "You aren't really John Constantine, are you? Because, not only would that be freaking awesome, it would be kinda scary."

Dean actually laughed, so Shawn figured they weren't going to kill him, before shaking his head. "Nah. This is Cas. We've had a bit of a rough week." He glared at his companions, effectively cutting off whatever it was that Sam was planning to say. The man didn't look happy at all. "We were just wondering, you being a psychic and all, how to end the apocalypse?"

* * *

Sam brooded as they left the office. "That can't be God." He argued.

Dean didn't reply but mirrored his brothers sentiments. He was feeling bad for Cas, who had pinned so much hope on finding his father but now... it was just them against the world.

Castiel stopped walking with them. "No." As usual his voice was rough from human vocals attempt to channel an angel's voice. He was cradling Dean's necklace in his palm. Dean had attempted to take it back upon meeting up with the renegade seraphim, but the metal had nearly burned his hand. "It is him."

"But he's... " Sam trailed off. It was hard to describe Shawn Spencer. He'd found the Facebook and the official Psych webpage, but it only hit the tip of the iceberg. "Insane. Maybe the amulet's not calibrated right?"

"Dude, calibrated? How do you calibrate a necklace?"

Castiel sighed. "The Son did not know who he was until his thirtieth birthday." He fidgeted. "I." Cas rubbed the back of his neck, an action Dean was coming to associate with shame or embarrassment. "I looked into his eyes."

"His dad didn't work for the post-office, did he?"

Sam missed the joke.

Cas gave a small laugh. "No. The police force." Castiel vanished with a flap of feathers.

* * *

Shawn watched the trio head down the street with a frown. He felt, weird, about the whole thing especially when he figured out just why Cas was setting off alarms in his mind. He dreamed about the guy, dreamed about all three of them, actually.

Lucid dreams were normal for him, so he didn't think much of grabbing the dead soul out of the ether and willing back into it's last form.

Nor had he thought much about sending two suspected psychopaths onto a passing plane and away from the suspiciously evil beam of light.

Shawn brightened as Gus entered the office, pizza and smoothies in hand. "Hey! Do you remember any stories about bright beams of light recently?"

Sometimes he hated being Him.

END.

**A/N- A bit longer than I like for my drabbles, but here it is. Cas doesn't know how to treat his Daddy.**

**Written in celebration of only having one mid-term left. Which is essay. On Self Reliance. **


	3. Like Palpatine, but with Fewer Wrinkles

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack Fic**

**Part Three- He's Like Palpatine, but with Fewer Wrinkles**

Zachariah was not pleased. Everything was not going according to plan; his efforts to endure Dean Winchester to the angels failed miserably and he didn't know why. They'd watched, researched, learned his likes and dislikes. Most of all, he was a _human_ prone to weakness as all mortals are, and should have crumpled to their demands!

But somehow, somehow he managed to subvert one of their most dedicated warriors.

Then Dean refused to house Michael, who wasn't making any effort to 'coerce' his vessel, and both Winchesters somehow managed to duck beneath creation's awareness. It was galling to admit he'd been out maneuvered by two pathetic whimpering masses of flesh and a low-level seraph's who's main strength lay in seals. Especially when said angel _and vessel _had been reported dead.

And where in the Seven Heavens did he get that sword?!

No. Zachariah was far from pleased. He leaned against a tree and felt his vessel's face twist into a expression of displeasure. "Ariel, rise."

Ariel, in the vessel of a young woman, stood smoothly. "New Zealand has been secured... but there are reports of... rebellious thought."

Zachariah dismissed the angel, thinking on the next best area to deploy the troops, when goose flesh rose up along his arms. _No. It's not possible._ If he was so inclined he would have called it a disturbance in the Force. An old energy was slipping into the Heavens, pulsing; writhing. He'd have to track it's source, fast.

END.

**A/N- So I've decided to have a goal of updating this fridays. In today's instalment we visit the creepy angel master. What is he planning?! And why New Zealand? The scenery of course! **


	4. Azazel, Taste the Rainbow

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack Fic**

**This chapter is pre-series.  
**

**Part Four- Azazel, Taste the Rainbow.  
**

Gus woke to the sound of a tree branch rapping on his dorm window. Groggily, he rubbed his eyes and looked down at the advanced calculus problems he had yet to finish and the puddle of drool making problem twenty-seven illegible. _Yellow eyes. Burning eyes. Death. "Kill them. Kill everyone that gets in your way. You're special..." _

It was his last year of college and his GPA was being threatened by nightmares and lack of sleep. He kept dreaming about a sinister guy with yellow eyes telling him to take revenge; kill people. While it was tempting to slip some laxative into Harrison's tea -cheating punk totally deserves it!- the idea of killing people freaked him out. Blood and gore usually had him running for the nearest trash can. Maybe he should go see a psychiatrist? _Shawn's mom could probably recommend someone in the area.  
_  
But thinking about his best friend, absent for almost seven years with the occasional postcard, was going to leave him depressed.

He poured a fresh pot of coffee and grimaced at the taste. Burned. He went to his mini-fridge to score some cream when the tapping at the window changed in intensity. "Eight thousand a semester and they can't afford to trim the trees..." he grumbled and turned around, ready to snap whatever way-ward branch was disturbing him. He froze. _Wait... that sounds vaguely like, Morse code?_ He went to the window (picking up a pineapple shaped paper-weight just in case) and threw back the curtain.

"SHAWN!" He unlocked the small window and moved back as his best friend made a dangerous (and entirely stupid) leap from the tree to his third story dorm room. "What are you doing here? I thought you were still in Memphis."

Shawn just grinned and made a bee-line for the coffee maker, before spitting out the over cooked beverage and making a face. "Great leaping flamingos, this place has got your taste buds brainwashed, hasn't it? I told you college was evil!"

Gus 'humped' and stole his mug back. Inwardly he felt terribly relieved at the sudden appearance of the immature slacker, but wouldn't admit it. "Do you have a particular reason for showing up at," he glanced at the digital clock by his bed, "two twenty-seven in the morning?"

"Indeed I do, dear, dear Gustomawich." Shawn spoke with a fake accent as he flourished a pen dangerously. Gus eyed his now-abused homework tiredly; he was going to re-do that page anyway. "See I decided to come back to Santa Barbara for Christmas. Always wanted to play with loose wiring..."

"And you couldn't call? It's only five days till winter break."

"Five days? Five Days! Anything can happen in five days! You might get abducted by aliens, used for human experimentation, or lose yourself in the dungeon beneath the library!" Shawn raised his eyebrows. "You know what they say about the stacks..."

Gus rubbed his temples. He was getting a headache, and it wasn't Shawn's fault. "Not in these stacks. The librarian would kill you just for thinking it. Books are sacred."

"Ah posh." Shawn reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a flat wad of newspaper. "Here's your Christmas present! Just in case I forget."

_This is a change. Usually he's late, if he gets anything at all. Could have wrapped it better..._ "Thanks, Shawn."

"No problem, you got any pineapple?" Gus nodded, set the package on the nightstand, and went to find the sliced fruit while Shawn launched into a poem on how comfortable the furniture in the Jungle Room was.

After Shawn left having eaten all Gus's pineapple and cupcakes, insisting he use the same exit as entrance ("besides, I'll get all turned around trying to find my bike if I don't!") , Gus went to bed. He didn't dream about the Yellow-Eyed-Man for the first time in weeks.

* * *

When he finally opened Shawn's present Christmas morning, it took him a good five minutes to figure out it was a dream catcher made out of jewelers wire and skittles.

END.

**A/N-**** I just remembered how terrible my Internet is at home, so updates will be around Thursday/Friday-ish.**

**Shawn doesn't realize just how powerful he is, or how his 'intuition' is more than that. Not yet. He just woke up one day and decided to make something with spare supplies, eventually turning it into something useful.**

**And Gus being a psychic makes me laugh. His ability? Super-strength. Evidence: 'Black and Tan: A Crime of Fashion', I don't see how a normal person could knock a big guy like that over with just a pillow. He didn't even look like he was trying.  
**


	5. Welcome Back, Anael

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**Part Five- Welcome Back, Anael.  
**

Anna looked around, confused. She was standing on a beach as waves lapped at her toes, and the last thing she remembered was being surrounded by her brothers and sisters as something cold pricked at the back of her neck. _I died._

She stepped back from the water to take in her surroundings and shuddered in pleasure as reality set in. She was alive, whole, with her grace and memory intact. She hadn't felt this alive in centuries; since they had been commanded to nothing but Watch. Energy pulsed within her as tears gathered in her eyes and she rode a high of emotion. _Glory, glory to the Father. Glory to the King of Kings! _She spun and danced, grateful and suffused with joy.

She had been forgiven for her trespass by the only one that mattered. Once again Anael, Angel of Love and Passion, walked the earth.

As her arms reached for the early morning sky in celebration, her fingertips brushed against the new weapon created just for her.

* * *

In his apartment, Shawn Spencer rolled over and burrowed sleepily into the blankets while mumbling about Hawaii. Across the room his television continued to play re-runs of Xena: Warrior Princess.

END.


	6. Elsewhere

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**Chapter Six- Elsewhere**

On a desolate beach in Australia a young boy appeared with a pop of displaced air. He had a small leather backpack slung over his shoulder and dark messy hair. One drunk pedestrian stumbled at his sudden appearance and muttered 'Potter' before making an about-face. The kid sighed and began walking along the shore with eyes downcast.

He wasn't a freak, or so the brothers claimed, but he wasn't normal. He was a demon. _But you're also half human._ He was freaking Rosemary's baby. Jesse kicked a shell tiredly and watched as it disappeared beneath the waves. _I have to believe someone can make the right choice._

The rolling water was soothing as it crashed against the rocks and sand. Finding a good spot, he brushed the grit away and sat down and stared out at the water. Physically exhausted, he unzipped his bag and took out one of his favorite books; Jumper.

* * *

Elsewhere, Zachariah screamed in frustration when he realized the last known G.L.A. (God Location Amulet) had been given to the Renegade.

* * *

Else-Elsewhere, Shawn Spencer looked up fro his game of Tetris. "Did you hear something?"

* * *

Else-Else-Elsewhere, while Zachariah zapped an underling with holy lightning, Mary Winchester led a menagerie of souls to infiltrate the third heaven.

End.

**A/N- Anyone that can turn an angel into an action figure gets props. And the Book version of Jumper was soooo much better. There weren't any annoying paladins.**


	7. It's All About the Faith

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack Fic**

**Part Seven- It's All About the Faith.**

Castiel stood before the roadside fruit stand curiously staring at the displayed produce. The vendor was sitting in a folding chair, feet propped up on the table, slowing flipping through a newspaper. "You see something you want?"

_Pineapple. Noun. A large juicy tropical fruit consisting of aromatic edible yellow flesh surrounded by a tough segmented skin and topped with a tuft of stiff leaves._ "These are pineapples." The angel managed to make it both a question and a statement as he looked at the yellow and green fruit.

The vendor answered without looking up. "Eighty-two percent Hawaiian."

_Pineapple. Family Bromeliaceae. The widely cultivated tropical American plant that bears this fruit. It is low-growing, with a spiral of spiny sword shaped leaves on a thick stem._ Cas picked up one of the fruits and turned it over in his hands as he tried to puzzle out the significance. In observing his Father he'd learned many things about the man. One was an apparent obsession with pineapples which seemed to be shared by most of the humans he interacted with.

Hopefully, when all was said and done, God would forgive him for his behavior.

Castiel gripped the fruit by the leaves, thinking deeply. _Pineapple. Noun. Informal, a hand grenade_. He blinked and held the plant away from his body as an idea formed. Vaguely he recalled a comment of Jimmy's when they had shared a body, in one of the few moments the human was awake, and marveled at the wisdom and generosity of his Father.

The fruit seller stretched and spat into the dirt. "You gonna buy that or look at it?"

_Informal. Hand grenade. Holy Hand Grenade?_ Castiel vanished.

The vendor looked up the faint sound of rustling and cursed. _Blasted punk took my pineapples!_

End.


	8. Bribery Is Not Going To Save You

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack-Fic**

**A/N- After finally getting to watch 'Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark' on Hulu, this chapter DEMANDED to be written. Since the criminal in the show was never given a name (that I am aware of) I just plugged in the name of his actor.  
**

**Part Eight- Bribery Is Not Going To Save You**

Hawkes turned his head as the door to his private cell opened, and snorted. It was just some dumb strong-arm police man, probably there to ask him if he was allergic to anything. With the idiotic good-natured look on his face the man couldn't possibly be there to intimidate him. He glanced at the name tag gleaming in the low light. Perhaps this 'McNab' was the good cop?

Either way, Hawkes wasn't going to confess. At best they had on him circumstantial evidence for murder (he could probably get witness testimony disregarded due to gunshot trauma; he'd need to talk to his attorney) and kidnapping. Attempted murder was all on the now dead Longmore.

"I'll take a strawberry shake and a burger." He snarked to the officer as he tucked his handcuffed hands behind his head and leaned back on the cot.

The officer's pleasant expression changed into slight confusion. "Sorry. I'm not room service." He then grinned brightly causing Hawkes to roll his eyes. "You see, it's bad enough your partner shot him; but that's forgiven. He's dead anyway, now, and you were the one that was pulling the strings. You were blackmailing him, weren't you?"

"I'm not saying anything without a lawyer. I know my rights." He scowled to cover up his worry and agitation. Did they know about him and Longmore or was the man just fishing for information?

The cop nodded in understanding with that damn content smile never leaving his face. "Oh. Of course. I'm not here in an official capacity anyway. I don't like people threatening my family, and _you_..." his form blurred, and Hawkes jumped as the cop reappeared inches from him. "You threatened _Him_. You hurt Him. You were going to _kill_ Him. And you don't feel the slightest bit of remorse. You should be grateful He thought it was fun to jump on Lassiter's car."

Hawkes broke out in sweat as adrenaline pumped through his body in some instinctual response. He swallowed as the brown in the officers eyes started to burn into a deep amber. "W-what are you?!"

The lights flickered, and he could swear a pair of massive, dark wings unfurled behind the peace officer as he leaned closer to the prone criminal.

The smile melted off his face, but the eyes kept burning with unnatural light. "You can call me Micheal."

End.

**A/N- Woah. Glad I got that out of my system. Alternate Title for this chapter: Do Not, Under Any Circumstances, Threaten Shawn Spencer In Front of Buzz McNab.**

**As for this story Micheal is 'who resembles God', rough translation, and that means he is pretty kicked back. Yeah. Back in the beginning they used to run around pulling pranks and stuff. Anyway when God up and left to go spend a couple lifetimes as a human his oldest missed him and decided to do something about it. So he found himself an newlywed couple and made himself at home in the wife's uterus. The rest, they say, is history. **

**As for Dean?**

**At least in this verse, Dean's body was pretty badly decomposed while he was in hell. The angels rebuilt it better, stronger, re-hymenated, the works. Because of this he is the ultimate angel vessel and the only one that can successfully channel Micheal's full power without combusting. Also the reason why the devil wants Sam. Kid was rebuilt with a little extra juice from his time dead, and therefore can handle Lucifer's energy without exploding.**

**McNab's body is mostly human, and while Micheal can come and go from it as he pleases, it's his body and no-one elses, it can't deal with his pure awesome. Meaning his power is limited, but like any vessel he can do some things. At the moment his main concern is keeping his wife and Shawn happy. He thinks Zachariah is creepy, and part of the reason he doesn't visit heaven often. Also, he doesn't care one way or the other if Dean invites him in. If he does, he'll pop on over and kick some butt, if not, he's got Francie, his Father (and best Friend) to look after.**


	9. Chairman Meow, Zombie Lord

**Bouncing Around **

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack-Fic**

**!Pre-Series!**

**Part Nine- Chairman Meow, Zombie Lord**

It had been an accident. He had told Shawn to keep the darn cat inside, but he was always letting it run around. Henry had just needed to go down to the store for an extra can of paint and as he backed up and felt the tire slide, he knew he hit the dusty yellow animal. Shawn would be devastated. The cut-off scrawling mew echoed like some horrible curse as Chairman Meow breathed her last.

What should have been her last.

He reversed the truck and got out to inspect the damage, but before he could make any definite diagnosis besides crushed ribs and bleeding Shawn walked out the door with a goofy little smile on his face. He told the kid to go back inside, to find his mother for something-or-other, but the boy insisted on retrieving Chairman Meow from her sun bathing.

He was grateful that the kid didn't walk past the porch and see the big cat lying out like a spilled can of spaghetti-o'. It was the kind of thing that could scar a child for life.

Shawn got his 'determined' look and refused to go inside without the stupid pet. Instead he started clapping his hands and clicking his tongue. "Here Meow! Come-on, Meow. Get up. It's time to go inside!" Miraculously, against all odds the cat shivered and 'got up'. Bones shifted back into place with tiny cracks as Henry watched, one hand reflexively moving for his pistol. _It_ walked inside, trailing at Shawn's heels as if the freaky thing hadn't just gotten _run over_.

His son was absolutely thrilled as Chairman Meow began waiting for him at the door everyday after school, twining about his ankles and purring non-stop.

But he knew what he saw. Knew the cat should be dead. It was ridiculous to think it; but the cat seemed to know it too. It sauntered around the house marking everything. It would hop onto the arm of his chair and let out loud, rumbling purrs as if mocking him.

Childish, perhaps, but after shipping the unnatural animal off he was able to breath easier. After attempting to shoot it, drown it, and burn it he just wanted to forget it.

End.

A/N- Because Henry's excuse for getting rid of Shawn's cat is pretty flimsy as far as I'm concerned, and I was channeling a bit of Pet Cemetery. It's probably a good thing Henry didn't stand for 'nonsense' when Shawn was a kid. I bet he was told if a man was sneaking about the house with a sack it wasn't Santa, it was a burglar.


	10. I Don't Play For Money

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack-Fic**

**Semi-Series!Episode Tag**

**Part Ten- I Don't Play for Money.**

The Psych office was usually desolate during the day. Most people that could afford them, who rarely used them, had respectable jobs like _pharmaceutical sales_ or _patrolling_ that needed to be looked after. Usually clients came in during the lunch or dinner hour, but because he didn't really have any other place to be (at the moment) and Gus insisted on putting up the illusion of a 'respectable' business, Shawn was sitting in his chair, feet propped up on the desk, and shuffling an incomplete card set.

It was incomplete since his supremely awesome poker case when he let one of the jacks go to the car guy, which made it useless for actual card games. But he had other uses for it.

Shawn held one of the cards between his fingers, absently noting it was the ace of hearts, licked his lips, and flicked it across the room. Several other discarded cards lay scattered on the floor by the far wall as testament to his failures, but he had been getting better. The ace sliced through the air and lodged in the large squash sitting innocently on an overturned trash can. Shawn jumped up and let out a whoop of victory, quickly drawing three more cards (five of diamonds, seven and two of clubs) and releasing them in a smooth flawless motion. All three speared into the abused vegetable, one actually nicking the squash and sticking itself into the dry wall.

Before Shawn could grab the phone and brag about his new, and absolutely awesome ability, he was interrupted by the front door opening. _ A Client? At this time?_ He grinned and waltzed over to the the front in anticipation to greet the unknown with some fantastic observational skillz, and found himself staring a what appeared to be a little girl, or a spy. Which meant she was either skipping school or on a top secret mission.

_Just my kind of girl. _"Morning, Miss. I'm Shawn Spencer, Psychic extraordinaire," his glanced over her floral sundress, the pink mace can dangling from her wrist, and the small open purse hanging at her side. He zeroed in on the rumpled print out from google maps. "Could I interest you in juice, or maybe some soda after your long trip?"

Her eyes were concealed by a pair of over-sized sunglasses, but he saw her eyebrows move in surprise. "How did- oh. Right." She nodded to herself and stepped up while offering a hand clearly attempting to be 'adult'. "I'm Aleesha Spoons, and I need your help."

Shawn leaned down and instead of shaking her hand, he brushed his lips across her knuckles. "Always ready to assist a damsel."

She blushed and followed him into the main office as Shawn went to get a juice from the fridge. "So what's the problem? Parents possessed by demons?"

"No..." She took off her shades and fiddled with them nervously. "Don't call them, okay? They wanted to keep this a family issue... but it's bigger than that! We need a professional." Blue eyes scanned the room curiously as she relaxed into the couch. The Psych office was more like a club house than anything else and tended to disarm those who came in. It actually seemed to lend to the credibility with clients.

Her eyes settled on the squash, or more specifically the playing cards sticking out of it, and she smiled hesitantly as Shawn commented on how he was certified in everything from driving to white water rafting. She smoothed down her dress and took a sip of the juice cocktail. "You see, my Uncle got involved in some high stakes gaming."

Which made her interest in his new skill, besides the obvious reason, make much more sense. Shawn nodded as she paused for his reaction. "I sensed something like that. The spirits have been a bit... insistent." He gestured to the squash.

She actually giggled. "Then you're for real. I called up all the detectives and psychics in my area but," she shrugged hopelessly, "...none of them believed me. Or I couldn't afford them. Even when I offered all my allowance for the rest of my life."

"That's terrible!" Shawn exclaimed, shock and outrage written across his face. He knew how much allowance meant to a kid, and to give it all up? "Why don't you explain what happened?"

As the girl launched into a quick tale of sloppy-joes, poker, enchanted chips, and a man who didn't know when to quit but was her super-best-favorite uncle and didn't deserve to be all wrinkly, Shawn found himself not speechless, but at an impasse. What she said should be impossible, but she clearly believed it.

He was her last hope.

He glanced at the clock. "Well, Aleesha. You want me to play this guy to get your Uncles years back?"

She nodded firmly. "I looked you up. You were a stand in for a tournament, and you 'spritzed his watch'. With the spirits on your side you can't loose!" She bit her lip, all pretense of being an adult vanished. "Please. I don't know when the man is going to move towns..."

Shawn stood and stretched. He walked over to the desk and scribbled a quick note for Gus explaining the situation. Or at least what he was willing to tell his best friend. If Gus knew the whole thing he would deny the poor girl their help either because she was so young or because he didn't want to deal with a supposed 'Man-Witch'. "Okay. Now all we need to discuss is my fee."

The look of relief on her face gave him the warm and fuzzies.

* * *

Surprisingly, it took only half an hour to track down the poker man, but the three hours ride into town ate up their time. Shawn unsnapped the strap on his helmet as he took it off the girl and left it on the seat as they entered the small pub. _Pub. _Shawn thought with a grin._ Lassi should be here. He'd probably get us a discount._

Detective and client retrieved their order, one pineapple smoothie and one hot chocolate, as Shawn mentally reviewed the customers present in true Spencer fashion. Selecting his target, he tapped the girl on her arm and headed for the back booth.

Truthfully, it was hard for Shawn to think of a guy with such a sweet accent and great hair as evil, especially when he had a beautiful woman on his arm. Shawn stood at their table, sipping his drink through his straw, staring. Then he hummed a bit until the guy glanced at him. Aleesha glared coldly at the two witches over her cocoa but the effect was ruined by her disguise; the sunglasses. Her pig tails didn't help much either.

"Can I help you?" The Irish man asked with a faint smile as he abandoned his steak.

Shawn slid into the booth with the ease of long practice and chirped the affirmative. "I'm Shawn Spencer, and this is my client, Alice-In-Chains." He gestured to Aleesha who didn't sit but continued blow some of the heat from her drink. "I'm told you have her uncle's years, Mr. Leprechaun."

'Mr. Leprechaun' arched an eyebrow as his girlfriend stared out the window. "If I do, I won them fairly. Not my fault he wasn't lucky."

So Shawn began his campaign, and when the magic guy agreed to a game (minimum buy in twenty-five years) Shawn wasn't worried a bit. Patrick was good, very good and had Shawn on the ropes in the beginning, but Shawn was better. After the first few minutes, he knew everything he needed to know.

Mr. Wizard really should knew better than to chew on toothpicks during a game. _Maybe it's a really small wand?_

* * *

"Shawn!" Gus jumped as his best friend roared up to the office. "Where have you been?"

Shawn shrugged. "I left you a message."

"Two days ago! That you were working a case! Which I thought you would call with details. Which you didn't. Which leaves me wondering if you got in trouble or decided to leave. Again." Gus spoke in a halting manner, enunciating every word. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he did it because he was pissed at Shawn or if it was just Gus being Gus.

Shawn sighed and unstrapped a white box from the back of his motorcycle. He peeked in the top, sniffed, and drooled. "I saved the payment for you!"

Gus grabbed the box and looked in. "You accepted cake as payment? This is worse than the carnival tickets."

"But it's _pineapple_ upside down cake, and our _seven-year-old-client_ worked so hard on it!"

END.

**A/N- Next to the Trickster, the Man-Witch has been my favorite 'villian'. Loved how he steals cars.**


	11. Pet Project

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**Part Eleven- Pet Project**

Shawn grit his teeth. In any other situation he would be kicking his heels and making a general nuisance of himself. But not now. Lucifer, spoiled narcissistic brat that he was, was out and about. Demons were, too.

Somehow he just knew it was Michael's fault. The kid was a little _too_ much like him.

Still, it was way too soon for any apocalypse and that meant he'd have to take action. Take charge. Exercise responsibility. But he truly didn't want to.

"Gus?" Shawn asked with a slight whine. "If Satan was free, do you think he'd spare the pineapples?"

Gus looked up from his newspaper, confusion evident. "I think he couldn't care less about pineapples, Shawn. He is evil."

Shawn nodded. If Lucifer did ever find out his weakness... well... he had to protect the delicious flavor didn't he? It was a good thing he was a detective this time around. Shawn minimized his game and opened up firefox, quickly navigating to a specialized search engine. _Bad Omens. Current. Cattle Mutilation?_

"Luci, what _are _you up to?" Shawn mumbled as the information flashed onto the screen. He reached up, allowing a pencil to fall out of the ceiling into his hand, and grabbed a notepad.

End.

**!!OMAKE!!**

Sam and Dean were in California, in part because of a hunt and in part to thank 'God' personally. He had spared Sam after somehow extracting Lucifer without killing him. They had called Castiel, after the shock of him owning a cell phone set in, and got directions to the Lord's current whereabouts. A police station.

Dean wanted to wait till later, but Sam wanted to get to it. He hadn't been properly introduced and was all but fangirling over the prospect of meeting 'God'. Who, as Dean told it, was a little eccentric but not a douche bag. They compromised by sneaking into the building as it was mostly deserted.

"What do you call this?" They paused at the female voice and looked into the cubical room. It looked like two people about to kiss.

"I call it very close talking." Shawn grinned, his lips millimeters from those of a pretty blonde cop.

"Well, do you have anything else to say?"

Dean snorted and moved back behind the wall. Sam looked him, confused. Dean just grinned and whispered, "Now I know where Cas gets it."

END.

**A/N- Okay. So this story is set in season five of SPN and season four of Psych. Therefore they are in the same time, current. The omake is out-of-time, so it became an Omake. Or there was some time traveling and alternate universe-ish things going on. **


	12. What's In A Name?

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack-Fic**

**Part Twelve- What's In A Name?**

Sillypants Jackson

Squirts MacIntosh

Nick-Knack.

Shawn smiled brilliantly at the blonde woman as he and Gus walked toward the welcome booth. "Hi. I'm Shawn Spencer, Head Psychic to the Santa Barabra police department, and this is my associate Henrickque Marzipan."

Burton, Oil Can, Guster.

Gus T.T. Showbiz.

Peter Panic

It started as a whim and a practicality. Give Gus some fun and ridiculous name to throw off the target of their interrogation. "I am Black, this is Tan." Sometimes a new identity had other uses.

Lavender Gooms

Felicia Fancybottom

Black Magic

No matter how much Gus would sometimes complain about Shawn's choice in alias, Shawn ignored him. It was fun seeing Gus face twitch when he received an especially ridiculous name.

Longbranch Pennywhistle

Hummingbird Saltalmacchia

Chocolate Covered Honeydew

Almost always Shawn gave his own name, but called Gus by a handle that left no clue as to who he really was. It had nothing at all to do with the knowledge, buried deep in his subconscious, that names had power. That in the right hands someone or something could use it for purposes beyond a simple google search.

Ovaltine Jenkins

Weepy Boy Santos

Shutterfly Simmons

If something bad happened, if someone was going to use their names against them, it would be Shawn that got hurt. He wasn't going to endanger his best friend. Besides, in the comic books all superheros had alternate identities. There was nothing weird about it.

Psych-Man.

Magic Head.

_Nothing weird at all,_ Shawn told himself as he paced behind the man wrapping voodoo dolls. "Names Shawn Spencer. This is my friend P'nut B'little." Gus didn't skip a beat, though Shawn could tell he wanted to sigh in exasperation. He'd never consciously acknowledge the relief he felt when the suspected murder's eyes dismissed Gus to focus on him.

END.


	13. You Gotta Admire That, Sammy

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack Fic**

**This chapter is rated T for mild and suggestive language.  
**

**Part Thirteen- You Gotta Admire That, Sammy**

"Dean," Sam said calmly as he slid into the passenger seat, several print outs of old manuscripts tucked under his arm. "Why is there a crate of pineapples in the backseat?"

"New weapon. You get all that research done, college boy?" Dean asked with a smirk, head bobbing to the classic rock as his hands beat on the steering wheel. Sam stared at his brother, noting the sudden uplifted attitude, and wondered if his brother finally went 'round the bend.

"Ah, yeah. There's some omens for summoning pagan gods..." He stopped and twisted in his seat to stare at the shorter man as they pulled out onto main street. "What do mean new weapon? Did you find a demon killing knife? Angel gun?"

"Even better!" Dean's smile grew dangerously. "Not only do they taste great," he gestured to the back seat confirming in Sam's mind that the oldest Winchester was now insane. "But they're holy hand grenades! Imagine, you just rip off a leaf, say a quick prayer, three seconds later 'BLAMO'."

Sam reached over to turn down the radio after setting his notes aside with a sigh. "Dean. As useful as that would be there is no lore _anywhere_ about fruit being used-"

As if not hearing his brother Dean pressed on, stepping on the gas, and laughed. "I didn't believe it at first, thought it was a joke, but you know Cas. He's already used them a few times, gave me the rest in case we get overwhelmed. Said the things explode and burn through demons like acid. Enough of it forces them out."

Sam just continued to stare at Dean, speechless, before slowly reaching for his cell phone. _Maybe Bobby will know what to do. Or Ellen. This may take a few people_.

They hit the highway. "Where we going?" Dean asked absentmindedly.

Sam responded automatically, thumb going through his phonebook. "Arkansas."

"Right. So I been thinking, skimming a couple of the scriptures, and I gotta say he may be a bastard for going MIA like he is, but you gotta admire the guy. For one thing we have the cheapest weapons around, water and words, and his kids clearly love him more than anything. Had to do something to get that-"

"Are you drunk? You're drunk, aren't you?! Pull over and let me drive!"

Dean shook his head. "And the GIRLS! Dude, you realize how many chicks the guy has hidden away? Sure a lot of them are old, but they were young and hot once."

Sam felt his jaw drop as his thumb hovered over the call button. "Are you talking about _God_?"

"Hell yes! Every nun is 'married to God' right? He's got more wives than Solomon!" Dean shook his head with a laugh. "Gotta give the man credit, Sammy. I thought I was good but..." he whistled and leaned over to turn up the music. "Bet he has awesome orgies."

Sam put his phone away and groaned. "I don't want to know. That has to be some kind of blasphemy." _I'm throwing out all the beer. I am not dealing with this again. And I'm not leaving Castiel and Dean alone together if I can help it. What the hell were they talking about?!_

* * *

Four days later in Graysonia, Arkansas Sam found himself frozen in amazement as Dean broke cover to hurl a pineapple into the air above a group of demons with a shout of 'In the name of the Lord'. The prayer wasn't even Latin.

At least the demons looked as confused as he did until they started screaming as the bits of fruit and juice began burning their skin.

He resigned himself to calling Bobby. As stupid as he was going to sound it was too good a weapon to not let the hunting community know. _God works in mysterious ways._

END.

**A/N- This chapter... *snort* Just what WERE Dean and Cas talking about? I'll let you fine people ponder that.**

**Originally Dean used 'sequestered' in refering to the nuns, but after thinking it over I don't think he'd use such a big word.  
**


	14. Two Demons Walk Into A Bar

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**Part Fourteen- Two Demons Walk Into A Bar**

*Thunk*

The light was starting to piss her off. Even when she closed her eyes it burned at the corner of her mind and promised peace and justice. Revenge. Part of her wanted to kick down the walls of the prison and run to the light. She wanted to swear her soul to the Light Bringer.

*Smack*

Tempting. So tempting to give in and surrender to the star, but that was the difference between her and the fresh meat. They were so prideful, so full of themselves and confident in their position. "Idiots." They spent so much time telling lies they couldn't see the biggest one staring them in the face.

*Thunk*

How many of them would get caught, how many of them were hunted down and sent into the depths of Hell? How many of them had to crawl on their damned bellies and fight to get out? How many thought his raising was a good thing? How many of them thought that he would protect and care for them?

*Smack*

So many have forgotten their origins, but she suspects that is because so many have died out and been replaced. They forget why they do what they do; that everything has a purpose and yet they still think themselves above everything else. So they get sloppy. They get caught. Then they get killed.

*Thunk*

But she'd gotten sloppy too. She'd failed to do the leg work, taken the information at face value, and nearly killed an innocent. "At least I wasn't banished. Or unmade." He was merciful. Always had been. "Should have noticed who he was first off. Ugh. I _have_ gotten sloppy."

*Smack*

So she could bide her time until the crap Lucifer was kicking up went back to the sewers it came from. She had a body, fully given to her, and she stayed true to her duty. She could wait.

*Thunk*

"Bundy! You have a visitor." The guard yelled as she walked over to a slim brunette bouncing a ball against the wall.

The ball settled into her palm with a solid slap and she swiftly stood mildly curious as to who would be visiting. The body's parents only came by on weekends, and it was unlikely Shawn would come by. _Unless he wants more input on technologically haunting someone._ She smirked while the guard bound her hands with cuffs (she could snap them in two seconds) and she was lead to the visiting chamber.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Crowley."

The Crossroads demon inclined his head. "Alice. How's the Vengence business these days?"

She slid into the opposite seat with a frown. "I hope you aren't here trying to recruit me." With a thought she disabled the microphones and put the camera on loop. This discussion was private. "I'd rather be unmade then serve that poser."

"Really? Personally I'd rather survive, and that means staying as far away from him as possible."

END.

**A/N- I couldn't help it. I loved Alice Bundy from 'Scary Sherry: Bianca's Toast' and Shawn _does_ visit her in prison! So I wanted to have a little scene of her revealing her true identity as a vengence demon! I felt so sorry for the crossroads demon in the latest episode of Supernatural, not to mention Ellen and Jo. Ah, well. Got to pack those fall finales with angst and drama, don't we? **


	15. Count Your Blessings

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crack-Fic**

**A/N- Thanks to Rebecca for giving me a MUCH more sensible spelling for Crowley. Also, I'm glad you liked Chairman Meow, she just might pop up again! As for the Psych characters I want to keep their otherness to a minimum. Gus may be exhibiting more demon powers soon; I'm not sure.**

**Post-Series.**

**Part Fifteen- Count Your Blessings**

Cooking didn't have to be a problem ever again, Shawn knew, but it felt a little cheap to just say 'mashed potatoes' and have a steaming bowl of butter covered carbohydrates staring him in the face. Still, he wasn't equipped for the situation at hand and after all the shit they'd gone through he was feeling a little sorry for his wayward kids. "Hey, Gus." Shawn called as he finished compiling his to-do list. "You any good at making mashed potatoes?"

Gus shrugged on his jacket and patted his pockets down, searching for keys. "Instant, yeah. Mom's making it from scratch though. You getting together with your Dad this year?" Gus paused at the door and sent him a look that made Shawn cringe. The man had made it his mission to guilt trip him it seemed. "It's Thanksgiving, Shawn."

"Yeah, yeah." He muttered as he friend headed out. Shawn tilted his head in thought. He picked up the phone. "Hey, McNab, how does Francine feel about a change of venue?"

* * *

It was a great day in California, and a nice soft breeze kept the temperature in the national park just right. A black 1967 Impala roared up to the small dirt parking lot that was already occupied by a black motorcycle, a squad car, and four shiny mustangs all different colors. "Um, Dean, what are we doing here?" Sam woke and asked the question as the car pulled to a stop. "I thought we were headed for the haunting in Oregon."

"We were. Are. Cas called and asked if we wanted to stop by." Dean explained with a shrug. Sam's nostrils flared as he thought, _Of course. Cas could ask Dean to jump of a cliff and he'd do it. _Dean shrugged as he adjusted his gun, eyes settling on the cherry red mustang in the parking lot. "He said there would be food." _Which would erased any doubts. Am I the only sane Winchester?_

Also nothing the familiar vehicle, Sam checked to make sure his knife was secured. "In a park?"

"Come on." They headed up the trail, cautious.

* * *

_All kinds of crazy_. That's what it was, but Dean didn't appear care too much. He was too busy stuffing his face with the rolls dipped in gravy. It's the best tasting food he's ever hand and if he is aware of the many faces watching him unabashedly, slowly mimicking the man's mannerisms toward the food, he doesn't show it.

_Imagine that._ Sam fights back a snort as he tried to decide which pie he wants. _Dean, a role model for Angels._ His eyes drift up the table to where Shawn -_God, _he reminds himself sternly- is happily drizzling sauce over his plate while asking McNab, _Micheal_, how the pirate case went. _Pirates?_

"Sammy, you going to eat that?" Dean asks while gesturing to his brother's cranberry sauce.

Sam slaps his hand away. "Get your own!" If he just doesn't think about the fact that the four horsemen of the apocalypse are chatting quietly at the far end of the table, that Anna has shown up and is squirming her way into Dean's lap, and that Gabriel keeps shooting them thoughtful looks from behind his wall of cakes he could imagine that this is what a thanksgiving dinner was supposed to be like. Not that he had much to compare it with considering their childhood.

Everything was way too surreal even with their background. _Thanksgiving with the Heavenly Host. Beat that, Oprah._

"Pass the butter." He doesn't know her name, but an angel wearing a body with bright green eyes and long blonde hair waggles her fingers at the butter dish and it drifts over to him.

"Yue!" Shawn snaps with annoyance, and the girl ducks her head, face flushing, as she grabs at the dish and passes it with her hands. There are normal humans at the table, after all.

* * *

After the meal several of the angels vanished, some were one step from passing out, and others drifted quietly in groups around the forest as an excuse to remain near their father. The Winchesters excuse themselves from a very strange interrogation and search for Shawn. Sam's too nervous to talk, for once. Dean takes the lead. He's been bothered by a few things for a while, and intends to get some answers.

"We went through a lot of crap."

Shawn is sitting on a tire swing some distance away from the tables, spinning slowly. "Yup."

"You could have ended it." Dean states. He's not angry, not really, when the stomach is full and God is happy it's hard to get upset, and his self loathing streak is too strong to put the blame on anyone else.

Shawn is radiating good-will and such. His body is tilts back so far he's almost upside down as he peers at the two Winchesters. Sam, ex-vessel of Lucifer, refuses to meet his eyes. "Maybe." Dean looks surprised at the comment, the idea that God couldn't have fixed things never before entered his mind. "But look at it this way, it could have been worse."

Briefly Dean recalls his trip to the future, but he doesn't think that was what Shawn meant. "How so?"

"Well..." Everything goes white.

* * *

Trees are blasted back from an epicenter, the only thing standing is a sad looking cross made out of a weather beaten fence post. The dirt twists and a what resembles a hand reaches out from the ground toward the sky. In the minutes that follow a body crawls out.

What was once known as Dean Winchester surveys the area with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Instead of customary hazel, they are a solid black. Grinning, he swaggers toward the road.

* * *

Hands are groping at the dirt as they try to haul the rest of the body from the ground. It is difficult and one finger snaps off as it hits a buried rock. The body groans as an audible pop can be heard signaling something being dislocated.

When the partially decomposed body finally extricates itself and collects all the parts that had fallen off it pauses, expression confused. Amazingly it looks less like a zombie than it did before and the finger that had fallen off heals as it is held questionably up to the hand it came from.

The body watches in fascination.

* * *

Dean stumbles and shakes himself to get rid of the... disturbing... visions. At least he didn't have to smell them. Then again being a Zombie would have had some advantages. He peers at Shawn as the man-child continues to spin lazily in the swing, being affected by his own pigging out at the table.

Shawn shrugs sheepishly. "You asked."

END.

**A/N- I just wanted to get something Thanksgiving-ish out before the holiday as I won't have any internets during the family reunion. There were around a hundred angels at the dinner, FYI, including McNab and his wife (not angel) and a few other people Shawn happened to pick up. Castiel was sitting on the other side of Dean. The angels were watching him because they think it inappropriate to look at Shawn directly, and they weren't sure how to behave towards the food. Happy Turkey Day!**


	16. In Which Headaches Abound

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack Fic**

**Part Sixteen- In Which Headaches Abound**

He was closing in on it. Zachariah knew this even as he sat at the quaint diner and sipped at his coffee. The source of the power fluctuations was somewhere in the city. The only problem lay in the fact that the trails crossed and crisscrossed and doubled back so much it gave him headaches following them. The comparative strength of the trails also changed causing him to stop and re-evaluate if he had a new trail or an old one.

Considering he had to conceal his activities from the others as well as coordinate the search for Dean _Biggest-Pain-In-The-Ass _Winchester and damage control/defense of Earth since Micheal wasn't available, also due to the irritating Winchester, he could forgive himself for taking so much time tracking down the source of the aberration.

_God has left the building, after all._ Zachariah reassured himself as he stirred his coffee. A mosquito landed on his hand, but with a single withering look it became nothing more than puff of smoke. Smiting at it's best.

A cute, by human standards, waitress approached his table with a spring in her step and a smile in her heart. "More coffee, Doctor?"

He nodded with a predatory smile and held out his cup. At least the cover for his long-term presence in Santa Barbara was therapeutic. _Only humans would considering taking dead bodies apart an honorable profession. _

* * *

Heaven is an indescribable fantastic place and if she still possessed a physical brain Mary was certain she'd die of an aneurysm trying to understand it. As it was, she already being dead, the way various dimensions intersected, overlapped, and phased into and out of awareness just confused and irritated her. It was little wonder human souls were confined to the first Heaven which resembled what they were used to when alive.

Mary felt a tightness in her chest, or rather what passed for a chest, and threw herself to the side. A solider from WWII followed her movements and the two of them tried desperately to pretend they didn't exist. An angel passed through the area they once occupied before blinking out. "They don't have any trouble navigating this place, Ma'am." The solider whispered grudgingly.

"Nope." Mary answered as she stared hard at the spot the angel had disappeared. _I thought all the soldiers were either on guard duty or deployed to Earth._ "Hank, I want to try something."

She moved to the vanishing point and concentrated. Information flooded her mind like hot iron. She knew where the third seal was and what to do. Grinning savagely she motioned to her companion to alert the others. They had a new ally.

Apparently Pravuil, Angel of Records, didn't like it when his prophets were fed false information.

* * *

Shawn rolled his shoulder and savored the wonderfully pain-free sensation. With a yawn his fingers stretched for the ceiling before coming down to touch his toes. "One. Two. One. Two." He grinned and popped his back. Having finished his morning stretches he headed for the bathroom in the hopes of getting in a shower before his dad got home. The man had been mother-henning him since the Ice-Cream robbery and giving mini-lectures what felt like every five minutes.

Shawn turned on the water and tested the temperature with his fingers. He decided to give it a minute to warm up and stepped to the sink. Feeling rather smug he found the container of pain pills the doctors had prescribed and unscrewed the top. _Ha. I didn't even use half the things. _Shawn had never thought much about it, but he always found it funny when he healed faster than the lab-coats expected.

Grinning, he held the bottle over the toilet to flush the prescription, but before he could complete his ritual of superiority -he didn't need pills, didn't like them clouding his mind- his knees buckled. Shawn caught himself on the sink and the toilet paper stand, accidentally bending the latter, but didn't have time to wonder at his sudden weakness as a train decided to barrel into his brain.

His mouth opened in a soundless scream as his vision blacked out.

* * *

Raphael stood in the old house where Castiel and his pet human had trapped him. The holy fire continued to burn brightly in his presence, it's essence feeding off of the blessed oil that would never run out. Unless his brothers and sisters found him he could be trapped, unable to aid in the fight, for eternity.

Eternity was a very long time.

He felt a tear trail down his vessel's cheek, and he felt the soul of the body he used mourn for him. He was a good man who asked Raphael to pray with him, pray for the Father to return.

"He is dead."

_God cannot die. _ His vessel said it with such confidence Raphael could have laughed, but then a soft wind crept through the cracks in the walls bringing with it a soothing coolness. The fire surrounding him began to dim and die, and Raphael fought a choking sob as he felt the wind caress his face with an echo of power he hadn't felt in years. Decades. Centuries. Millennium.

* * *

Gabriel had been stalking his next victim when an electric thrill passed through his body. The hairs on the back of neck stood up and the candy bar in his hand sat forgotten. He looked up, confused, and the feeling left as soon as it had appeared. "Dad?"

* * *

McNab was on patrol, rolling along the beach side shopping district on the segway, providing an unobtrusive deterrent to shop lifters and other small-time criminals when he felt a nice breeze. He hummed happily as the scent of fresh baked snicker doodles and mint carried by the wind with a slight tang of ancient power.

Absently, he noticed an older gentleman in the coffee-shop spit out his drink and curse in Aramaic. The beat cop recalled the new mortician working for the station to fill in for Jill, who had spontaneously decided to go on vacation, and wondered what had the man so upset. Buzz shrugged and expertly steered the station segway around the corner and back to the station. _Three down. Four to go._

He had a sudden desire to sharpen his knives and clean his guns.

* * *

"Shawn!"

The voice was insistent and scared and strong. It was shaking Him, and he didn't want to be shook. It would only serve to aggravate the headache already blossomed in his cranium and spreading like fire down his spine. Or was it? He was fairly certain burns and headaches weren't supposed to feel like this. He was fairly sure he wasn't supposed to have a spine. Didn't need one.

"Shawn! Wake up! Shawn!"

He wanted to snap at the voice, who was he to order Him around? Still, everything was swimming in his mind in a confusing jumble of memories and half-formed ideas. He latched onto the words and used them to focus as He fought back the tide that threatened to carry Him away. He was Shawn. Shawn. Shawn Spencer. Pet Detective. _No, that's not right. My hair is way better than his. _Shawn Spencer. Psychic Detective. _Much Better._

The voice was his dad, Henry Spencer. Retired cop. General hard-head and fun killer.

Shawn felt his eyes blink open and register the worried face of his father hovering over him. "Thank God." Shawn felt his stomach twist at Henry's comment. Had he gotten brain damage when he fell? What kind of arrogant prick thought they were God? Crazies and jerks. "What happened, Shawn." The worried expression had been replaced with annoyance as the professional in the man began checking for signs of injury.

Shawn licked his lips nervously. He could _not_ be crazy. "I slipped." His father gave him a look. "On the soap. Must have hit my head." He frowned and shook the older man off stomach relaxed and he sighed, hand flying to his temples. If he was, by some chance, falling into the realm of the insane that didn't mean he had to be stupid about it. He didn't have to go telling everyone about his delusions or weird dream hallucinations, even if they felt so _Right_. Even if he now had a perfectly workable idea of how Noah got all those animals on the ark. _One hundred percent God. One hundred percent human__. _He fought down a smile as Henry scowled. _So, that would make me two hundred percent person. Awesome._

END.

**A/N- Poor Shawn thinks he is going crazy. Zachariah just lost his trail. **


	17. Christ Meets AntiChrist

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack Fic**

**Part Seventeen- Christ Meets Anti-Christ**

"Thanks." Shawn passed his change to the popcorn guy and watched him roll away, bell ringing it's unique chime to alert all the boardwalk pedestrians of his snacks. He narrowed his eyes as the Blur appeared in the shadow of the bridge, _looking,_ and marveled at his own imagination. Reality blended around the center of the Blur, warping like the machine he liked the play with at the church art festival where you pour paint in and it spins outward. Some kid bouncing a super-ball walked into the Blur's area of effect and Shawn watched as the red and white ball corkscrewed in the air, spinning and stretching like a wad of liquid taffy, before resuming it's path between the ground and the boy's hand as he passed out of the Blur.

Shawn chewed on his popcorn and retreated back to the Psych office. Gus held out his hand for the popcorn without looking up from his laptop. Shawn gave him his bag and moved over to sit on the couch by the window. He peered out the blinds at the beach. "That kid is back."

"What kid?"

"The sickly pale one. You know, he was staring at our office two days ago." Shawn crouched down as the Blur headed down the beach, where the detective presumed he was going to rent a surf board. "Did you find out about that light?"

Gus made a noise of annoyance. "You can do you're own google, Shawn. I have a work review coming up, I need to be prepared." Shawn heard the sound of rapid typing, and he began tapping his fingers on the windowsill between keys to make his own music. Things kept getting stranger, and this Blur needed to be dealt with. It was distracting.

"You'll do fine. They wouldn't want to lose their best salesman." _They wouldn't want to risk angering the psychic._ Shawn started humming to add to his little musical.

The salesman ground his teeth and clicked a pen in agitation. Sure he had been the best salesman in the company, but that was before his strangely sudden raise. Before he started throwing more time into hanging out at the office with Shawn instead of working his route. Now that he had to come up with plausible reasons to explain his decline in performance and Shawn's private orchestra wasn't helping. "Shawn!" Gus growled before yelping as his 'E' key snapped off. "God- I'm never going to get this report done."

The other man raised his hands in mock surrender. "That's what you get for being a PC. Don't have to worry about letters falling out on the Mac."

"Arrg!" Gus tossed his sleeve of popcorn at the other man.

"Not in the mood for salty, buttery goodness?" Shawn dodged the stuff frog aimed at his head as he fled out the door following the faint chime of the ice-cream vendor.

* * *

As per usual, a gaggle of children circled the ice-cream cart like a pack of hyena's. It was cute in a primitive animal sort of way. Shawn approached the cart with caution and a smile. It wasn't smart to get between a hungry elementary schoolers and their ice-cream, especially when one of them was bending reality just by hanging around. "Hey Kane, cherry Popsicle." Shawn pointed to the small picture of multi-colored treats.

"You want another for your friend?" The vendor asked as he scooped out a mound of rocky-road and pressed it into a waffle cone for a pig-tailed girl. He un-crumpled the dollar bill and wiped it's sticky residue against his apron while muttering about parents spoiling their children.

"Maybe later." The hairs on his arms stood up as Shawn felt like he was being squeezed. _Shit._ He had entered the area of effect, though no one else seemed to feel it. His eyes drifted over to the boy. Too pale for California, though the skin irritation around his ankle suggested he'd recently taken up surfboarding. New to the area? _No. I would have seen him coming and going. Not just appearing. The game is afoot! _He carefully exhaled and focused on getting the invisible vise to let his ribs go.

Shawn blinked as dark eyes bored into his hazel ones. His mouth went dry. The boy stared at him in indecision before adjusting the strap on his small backpack and asking, "You're the psychic, aren't you?"

Shawn's eyes flickered from the salt encrusted fingers wrapped around the shoulder strap to the small stain on the boy's shirt. "Actually, can I get a strawberry cone, too?" He flashes a grin to the Blur generator. "Yup. Name's Shawn Spencer."

"Jesse." The kid doesn't give his last name, but accepts the ice cream with an appreciative nod.

_He's running from something. _Shawn can feel his lips twitch in amusement. Not so long ago he used to plan escapes from his parents and all the drama. Then he did it; totally skipped town without warning and traveled the world. He couldn't help but feel a kinship with the short kid. He decided he liked him. By some silent communication they walked down the street, licking at their frozen treats, enjoying the afternoon sun. "So." Shawn probed as his eyes tracked the sway of woman's hips as she jogged past. "Who are you running from? What's got you down?"

Jesse chewed on a chunk of strawberry as they settled on a bench that became mysteriously deserted. He was a cautious little bugger. "It's complicated." His eyes flickered to the side. "I can't pay much, but this is on retainer. Okay? I just... I just need to talk to someone who'll understand."

Shawn moved to pat the kid on the shoulder, he wasn't going to charge him anyway, but he froze on contact. He _knew_ what the boy was. Knew why everything warped around him. Shaking himself back to reality Shawn gave him a reassuring smile. "Sure, sure."

So Jesse broke. He ignored the pink sticky mess melting over his hands as he explained his fears, his doubts. He was afraid he couldn't do it. He'd been hearing about world wide disasters, wondering if he could do anything to stop them. Almost afraid to try. Afraid that he would. Afraid he'd give into whatever it was that made him special. Scared his parents would be used to manipulate him. He'd seen far too many movies and read too many books to be comfortable playing the solider for any side. Short story: Jesse didn't want to be the hero.

Shawn wrapped a free arm around the boy's skinny shoulders. Jesse certainly didn't look like a weapon. "You don't have to." Shawn tossed his popsicle stick into a nearby garbage bin. "Everything will work out, kid. Promise."

Jesse stared at Shawn and slowly the tension leaked from his shoulders. He leaned back, surly attitude thrown off by the smile in his eyes. "I'm not a kid."

END.

**A/N- And Thus Shawn accepts who he thinks he is. Now he just has to figure out what he wants to do about it. I was kicking this idea around for a while but I couldn't get the confontation scene right. At one point I had Shawn making fun of Jesse since he was new to surfing and giving him pointers. But I know nothing about surfing, so I had to axe that.  
**


	18. Christmas Short

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover**

**A/N: This chapter is post-series. **

**Part Eighteen- Christmas Short**

He wasn't expecting anything on Christmas morning, he'd gotten used to it living on the road where the most he'd get was a card (stolen) or something useful (oil for the impala), so when Dean woke up to find a pair of brightly wrapped boxes on the end table between his and Sam's beds he immediately went on alert. He strained his ears to listen for a possible intruder, but only heard the steady the drip of the bathroom faucet and Sam's light breathing.

He reached for the box closest to him, calculating at the danger level as he tilted it around, and began unwrapping it. It could be a cursed object; but why would someone go through the trouble of breaking into their motel room just to leave when killing them would be so much easier? Same with a bomb. Unless who ever left it wanted to torture them first, but then why the shiny wrapping?

As Dean popped the lid off the box he grinned, then stifled a giggle (because Dean Winchester does not giggle) as he read the note accompanying the gift.

_You ever started an Urban Legend?- God_

There was also a childishly drawn diagram showing which end was up, not that he needed it. Dean spent countless hours of his childhood before the television watching heros fight evil and knew just what kind of weapon this 'gift' was. The heavy metal cylinder had a surprisingly comfortable grip. Dean squeezed the handle and watched a soft blue light erupted from the tube, humming as it passed through the air. "I take back everything I ever said about him, Shawn is the MAN!"

Sammy's, of course, was red.

They ended up leaving the motel two days early or risk having to explain the cleanly sliced furniture.

END.


	19. What's Your Zombie Plan?

**Bouncing Around **

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack-Fic  
**

**Part Nineteen : What's Your Zombie Plan?**

Gus left the echo parked down the street as he circled the Psych office on foot. His eyes darted along the street searching for any sign that his best friend was around. He didn't spot the distinctive Norton, nor did he hear it's rumbling motor, but that didn't really mean anything. Shawn could have just as easily hitch-hiked to get to the office or, in a rare moment of health consciousness, walked. Maybe the bus.

_ Lights are out. _Gus glanced at the oft-broken window of their office, felt a brief surge of pride as he read the green lettering, and made a mental note to draw the blinds once he was inside. His silver samples case he held close to his chest and rushed around to the back door in a crouch. Witnesses were few. The man pulled out his key as he knelt by the door and thought smugly, _No one notices the Jackal._

The bolt slid back easily; too easily. Gus gave an irritated look at the lock as he realized Shawn had left the office undefended yet again. It was a wonder they'd never been robbed blind. They had some pretty expensive stuff in the office, TV and computers among the top re-sellable merchandise, and yet the only people who had ever broken in were case-related bad guys. Still, luck had to run out sometime and it was better to be safe and double-bolted than sorry. Now if only he could convince Shawn of that...

Gus slipped quietly into the office, stepped carefully around a sticky spot where a root-beer float had once been spilled, and resisted the urge to kick the green stuffed frog across the room. His goal was stealth. He had to leave as few clues to his passage as possible, and Shawn would notice the littlest thing and retaliate before Gus to savor his revenge. He found a somewhat clear spot on the table, only the local newspaper spread out with 'Counting Contest- All You Can Eat BBQ Grand Prize' circled in green ink, and he propped his sample case open atop it. _Must be there. As long as he isn't here._

Smirking to himself and humming, Gus withdrew from the company issued container a can of cheese spread and the crunched up particles from the bottom of a chip bag. He crossed into the next room, noted the blinking message light on the answering machine with a satisfied smile, and quickly passed over to his best friend's more disorganized side of the room. Despite his best efforts the tornado that was Shawn Spencer found it's way into his space more often than not.

Shawn's desk was covered in balled up papers, junk-mail, cereal box toys, and post-it-note doodles. His Macintosh hibernated on top of the debris like an armored sentinel guarding her domain. Gus gave the machine a wide berth (for various reasons) and checked the drawers for traps before pulling one open. It was filled with pens and business cards from every restaurant and motel/inn Shawn had ever been to. Several of the cards had phone numbers with feminine names scrawled daintily on their back. Gus' own collection was steadily growing, but Shawn had the unfair advantage of his decade long road trip.

Gus shook the can of cheese and began lining the drawer with the off-yellow cream.

He opened the next drawer below to discover an emergency supply of balled up paper in case they changed from verbal sparing to office-supply based. Gus sprayed the balls with cheese (it was a tactical decision, really, he had to take out the enemy ammunition) and sprinkled the nachos on top with a flourish.

It wasn't until he reached the last drawer that he paused in his prank-preparation. There was a pile of papers stuffed into the drawer, but they weren't the usual clippings that would sometimes draw the youngest Spencer's attention (he had a whole scrapbook of recorded Panda attacks) but instead weather reports and obituaries. Printed out news articles. Gus felt a chill creep up his spine.

Shawn was doing his own research. If that wasn't a sign of disaster, he didn't know what was. Curious, Gus pulled out the clippings and took a closer look. They had nothing to do with any of their cases. He recognized Shawn's handwriting in the margins; notes.

The chill settled in his stomach even as his lips quirked into self-satisfied glee. "I knew it." Shawn always said he didn't believe in the supernatural, scoffed at the idea, but now Gus had seen evidence contrary to that. Panic would set in later after he digested the fact that his best friend was seeing signs of the apocalypse. He closed the drawer and headed back to the kitchen area, withdrawing his personal cell as he went. "Father Westley, hello. Yes. Would it be alright if I came by this afternoon?"

He already had some silver bullets (since the were-wolf case), iron and salt (since the false-ghost case), in his supernatural emergency kit at home. There was a stash of other anti-evil knick-knacks under his bed. He had been meaning to pick up holy water since the demon-possession fiasco.

END.

**A/N- The title for this chapter was taken from a Red Vs. Blue episode. If you haven't already, go watch it. Great series.**


	20. Alpha Male

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack Fic**

**A/N- Alright. Here's Lassi-face. Woot woot. This chapter is post 'Let's Get Hairy'.  
**

**Part Twenty**- **Alpha Male**

Carlton Lassiter stared hard at the two idiots in his holding cells. Brought in for disturbing the peace, and destruction of property, they were fighting about who should be the leader in their little gang. Only they called their gang a 'pack' and thought that the moon would give them super-powers. Even separated by bars and five feet of empty air they still argued, cat-called, and made threats.

Lassiter cocked his gun and pointed it at the nearest trouble-maker. On the other side of the room, in what the station's officers had jokingly started to refer to as 'the den', Jessica Trudo stiffened and backed up on her bunk as her hands went to cover her ears. Lassiter liked her even though she was bat-shit insane three nights of the month. She came in quietly, went into her cell quietly, and didn't make trouble for anyone but the night-shift.

Once upon a time these particular jail-cells had been part of a set of interrogation chambers. As Santa Barbara's crime rate rose along with the rest of the country's, though unlike most of the USA their solve-rate went with it, the rooms had been converted to extra holding cells. For some strange reason the SBPD had to deal with several classes of crazies committing crimes and these rooms were decided the best to deal with them. They were partly sound-proof.

Jake froze as Lassiter's bullet whizzed past his ear and buried itself in the wall behind him. "Shut. Up." The detective growled out as his eyes flashed with irritation. He wasn't supposed to be in the office. He hated working full-moons, because that was when the whole city decided to get drunk or something, but had been called in anyway. Officer Morisson was now on his black list. _I make one, one little mistake and suddenly all these freaks are 'my kind of case'._ "I don't care if you think you're a werewolf. I don't care if you run around bare-ass naked and howl at a big mystical chunk of rock in the sky. So long as you are in MY territory, you WILL behave."

He heard Trudo whine a bit and curl in on herself. Freak she may have been, but at least she gave him respect without needing a threat. The first time she came in she'd been so distressed and confused, holding out blood covered clothes, he'd locked her away just to be sure she wasn't going anywhere while the investigation went on. After that it just became habit that when she showed up an officer walked her downstairs and into her cell. Some of the more people friendly officers would take her meals for her two-day, three-night stay.

But every now and then these kind of guys showed up, and they pissed Lassiter off. Jake McCormik swallowed and flared his nostrils. The door at the end of the hall opened and a young woman officer entered with a set of folders. She gave a quick smile to Trudo, looked dully to the two men, and stood respectfully before her superior as she handed the papers over. "McCormik as been brought in before. His neighbors reported strange noises and suspected animal abuse. We didn't find enough evidence to get anything to stick. Vermillion is new in town, though when we contacted the San Angelo department his records show numerous counts of assault and one conviction of animal slaughter with several other suspected."

"Thank you, Dobson." Lassiter replied calmly as he flipped through the files. She nodded and left with a yawn. Girl didn't want to be there either.

"See." Tony Vermillion sneered through the bars and ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. "We can't help being what we are. You should just let us get this over with." He glared over to his rival. "I'll rip your throat out with my teeth."

Lassiter snapped the folder closed. His own private inquiry to the San Angelo department brought up a negative. "I told you keep your mouth closed unless you want to be charged with attempted murder." He might do it anyway, just to get them out of his hair and into state. The more stupid idiots off the street, the better.

"Neither of you are werewolves." He forestalled comment by aiming at Vermillion. "If you were, by some miracle, I'm sure you know what kills werewoves. I have a two full clips in my desk upstairs. I'm not joking. I don't joke. You'll be released in the morning after some paperwork. If you have questions on this stations policy with lycans, you may ask Trudo." Turn heel step.

Just because Lassiter didn't believe some people were what they claimed to be, didn't mean he was open to the possibility. There really were two full clips of silver bullets for his baby in his desk. There was a another set at home for each caliber of gun hidden about the apartment. He simply didn't believe McCormick or Vermillion were werewolves; for one thing they 'knew' what they were. For another, no bodies matching the MO had turned up in San Angelo or Santa Barbara since the two men had arrived.

Any _hunter_ worth their _salt _knew werewolves were messy, amnesiac in their human forms, and always _always_ ate the heart of their kills. He'd learned that at his mother's knee.

Lassiter headed out of the SBPD with a cold glare to Morisson. The peace officer flinched and the smile died on his face. Lassiter rolled his eyes and unlocked his car. He still had a few wards he wanted to put up around his place before turning in. A warm, self-satisfied, fuzzy feeling bubbled up in chest as he thought about the two puddles of panic he expected to find in the morning. Each lunar crazy had their own cell. They wouldn't be able to hurt one another. _Pity. I'm sure Trudo could give them lessons in proper wolf etiquette. Would be hard to explain the missing organs though..._

END.


	21. That Name

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**A/N- To Dark Archer, they got Light Sabers for christmas. Fully functional.  
**

**Part Twenty One- That Name...**

"You what?!" Shawn hissed as he continued stroking the black rabbit in his arms. Part of him wanted to name it Henry the Eighth.

"I had a secret girl friend, okay, that's why I didn't go out with Willow." Gus groused while putting his own dappled bunny back in the Plexiglas pen.

"H-how could? Why?" Shawn stammered before calming and cooing to his bunny. "Wait a minute! You scheming schemer! That's why you wanted to come down here! So you could keep me distracted with bunny-love!" It was painful to do so but Shawn set Henry in the pen.

"You pick that bunny back up!"

"No! Why wouldn't you tell me about your girlfriend? We're friends! That's what friends do!"

"I didn't want you to scare her off."

"Please." Shawn huffed. "When have I scared off your girlfriends, without justification?"

"Well it doesn't matter now." Gus claimed, retaking a new bunny for comfort. "I haven't heard from her in months. I mean, I was used to her taking off for weeks at a time, I think she might have been a traveling saleswoman for something, but the last time I called her the number was out of service."

"You don't even know what she did?" Shawn was astounded. Gus was just full of surprises today.

"She mentioned it once or twice, she had to travel a lot. I don't remember right now! It wasn't important, and it's not like you've never bounced around from state to state, job to job."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Do you even know her name? Or did it slip your mind?"

"Ruby."

"...come again?" Shawn forced himself to take a deep breath, then take up a rabbit of his own for added calm. He thought about naming it Dean. Maybe Sam. Those were good, anti-Ruby names.

"Ruby. Her name was Ruby."

Shawn snorted and buried his nose in the sweet shampoo scented fur of Dean-or-Sam. "That name is cursed, Gus. Never trust a woman named Ruby. EVER. She'll just manipulate your feelings until you let the Devil out of hell and then up and die leaving you feeling guilty and used."

"..."

"Cursed. Rubies are not to be trusted. Should make that a commandment or something. 'Thou shall not trust Ruby'. Right between 'Thou shall not have any other Gods before me' and 'Thou shall not eat the last pudding-cup'."

Gus stared at Shawn in wonderment. "You really are upset about this. Aren't you."

"OF COURSE I AM!!! You were going out with RUBY!!!" Shawn breathed and looked into Dean-or-Sam's bright red bunny eyes. _You'd know what to do, wouldn't you boy? You'd go right for the throat._

END.

**A/N- So. I was sitting in the Pub where the TV's were playing Psych, and my Supernatural buddy was like 'she even looks a little like her!' so yeah... This was actually going to be shorter but it just wrote itself. So Ruby was able to detect Gus's demon-blood and was keeping him as a back-up plan. Good thing she didn't get very far with him. I'm trying to figure something out where Chairman Meow and Little Boy Cat meet and do some heroics.**

**What you want to bet part of Lucifer's game plan is to distract God with bunnies? **


	22. Deep Cover Mission

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**A/N- This takes place after the defeat of Lucifer.  
**

**Part Twenty Two- Deep Cover Mission  
**

Castiel glanced to his partner for the mission, his sister Iofiel, and turned his attention back on the small cabin they were observing. They had been sent to this reality to make contact in order to better fight false-gods (which had really brought out Father's wrath when he found out about them during a sci-fi convention he had been attending with the apostle, Gus) with minimum casualties. While it would have been much easier to lay-waste to entire planets innocents would have been caught in the crossfire.

And it would have made the humans of this Earth awfully suspicious to hear that 'God commanded it'.

Yet, in their Father's infinite wisdom he had a ready plan.

Castiel nodded to Iofiel and she flew off to finish fixing up their cover and tera-forming a small moon in a system off the gate network. Castiel wondered if it meant anything that he was getting so comfortable pretending to be someone else. Lying and deception were not something he was particulatarly good at.

The cabin door opened and a graying man walked out whistling, fishing pole and ice-box in hand. Castiel adjusted his trench coat and checked the leather-like armor underneath; his vessel's original suit would have raised too many questions. With a thought he made himself visible and called, "Johnathan O'Neill?"

The man turned, took in Castiel's appearance, and groaned. "There goes my weekend."

Castiel took in the sudden tense posture of the human and read his surface thoughts. Upset. Worried. Friend or Enemy?

"Your weekend is flowing by at the normal rate of space-time." Castiel took a single step forward. "My name is Castiel. May I join you?" He gestured to the fishing pole.

Jack's eyebrows rose in disbelief. "You want to fish?"

"My last human charge found it relaxing... I have become quite fond of it."

The old solider rocked back on his heels mentally recording everything about the new being before shrugging. His line nearly reached the middle of the lake before disappearing beneath the surface. He sat down and twisted open a frosty beer. Castiel reached the end of the dock and sat on the wood, cracking his neck as he placed his feet in the cool water. He snapped his fingers and a thin delicate looking pole appeared in his hand.

"Neat trick." Jack commented.

Castiel flicked his wrist, sending the line flying. He tilted his head to the side, briefly wondering just what adjustments his Father had made before sending him and his brigade to this reality. He was starting to feel a little cramped, which was unusual. "I need to stretch, do you mind?"

"Go ahead."

Castiel shifted. He felt his clothing morph to accommodate the change and heard Jack whistle appreciatively. Castiel looked back as if wondering what had taken the human's attention. A pair of rather large, slightly glowing, golden and brown wings extended from his back before nestling against him.

"So, ah, What are you?"

Castiel looked at the human, unaware of just how awkward the situation should have been. "Furling."

"Oh." Jack nodded to himself and turned back to his pole and the lake. "Nice to meet new species without the hail of gun and zat fire."

"Quite."

"Would you like a beer?"

* * *

Jack picked up his cell and noted the caller ID. "Hey, Daniel."

"Jack, you told Hammond that you're fishing with a Furling!"

"Yes. He's quite nice. Kinda like Teal'c. Doesn't talk much. I like him."

End.


	23. Evolution

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack Fic**

**A/N- This chapter takes place shortly before Castiel finds God. Probably a week. Review Responses located at end of Chapter. ^_^**

**Part Twenty Three: Evolution**

Shawn wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings. That being said, if asked he could have accurately described the type of earrings each female in station was wearing and deduce that Miss McKennis was worried not so much about her recent mugging but rather her dog, James, who was home alone. While all these facts and figures built in his mind Shawn lazily spun around in his recently adopted chair and tracked the lone fly in the room as it moved from light fixture to light fixture.

"Shawn. Hey, are you alright?" His best friend rolled up in a chair of his own, crossword puzzle half finished in hand. "You haven't teased Lassiter once since we got here."

Shawn blinked at Gus and wanted to tell the fly on the ceiling to shut up. He couldn't here Gus over it's incessant buzzing; like a million people talking at once. If he wasn't absolutely certain that the last time he'd had enough alcohol to get really smashed was three weeks ago he'd just tell he Gus that he had a bad hangover. It felt like a hangover. But it wasn't.

So what had hang-over like symptoms but wasn't a hang-over?

Shawn felt his body still. For one terrifying moment he feared someone had slipped something into his drink at the bar last night when he had been tracking cheating-boyfriend-number-seventy three. _Don't be silly Shawn. If someone wanted you that badly would they really have to resort to drugs? Maybe it's just the late nights. After this, take a nap! A nice long nap. Then go visit that spa Henry's always sneaking off to._

"Gus, what do you say after this we head over to Psych and pull out the air mattress? I could go for nap."

"We don't have an air mattress." Gus stared at Shawn while closing his book of crosswords and standing respectfully at Chief Vick's approach.

Shawn shot him a bewildered look. "Of course we do! I bought it in case we had to harbor anymore fugitives. It's not good to sleep on a hard floor."

"I'm going to pretend, for the sake of paperwork, that I did not hear that last comment." Vick stated tiredly as she handed them a thin file. "After your helpful work before, we would like you to help identify a body."

Shawn nodded as one hand went to head. Normally he did it as part of his simply awesome role playing, but this time there was a supremely awful headache building. Why wouldn't that fly just shut up? How many of them were in the station? Should he call an exterminator and bill it to the chief?

Gus stepped up, giving Shawn a look, and smiled pleasantly (if nervously while mentally praying to not get caught) to the woman. "While normally we would love to help, Shawn's psychic channels have been fuzzy. It happens sometimes. He just needs a day or two to recover-"

Vick held up a hand as she gestured. "That may be, but..." she sighed. "We've pulled prints and got nothing. No form of ID we can read and no missing persons reports match her. At this point I would be happy if you just told me what band she liked to listen to."

Shawn cracked open the folder and glanced at the pictures. She looked too small and fragile on the metal bed, blonde hair pooled around her and blue lips puckered as if to kiss. He had never seen her before in his life. Shawn tilted his head and opened his mouth to tell Vick that the spirits were feeling rather non-chatty today, but instead found himself spewing knowledge that came out of no-where.

"Her name is Cassandra Martin. 19. Just graduated Williams High School in Pennsylvania. She's a big Weird Al fan, but her current favorite group is Sugar Cult. She likes fried green tomatoes and orange soda. Her mother just got through her third divorce and she was having an affair with Cassie's best friend." Shawn sighed. He frowned and took a closer look at the few crime scene photos included in the folder. What were those red dots on the pictures? "She was here with her second-best friend as part of a post-graduation road trip. You might want to put out a BOLO for a dark green Ford pick up."

"Shawn!" Gus hissed as his friend looked up, only to notice the way the Chief was staring at him like he had just walked out of a space-ship.

"Mr. Spencer?" The police chief eyed the psychic and moved to take the folder back as if afraid of startling him. Shawn shook his head and noticed that the red drops were blood. He was apparently suffering from a nose bleed. Strange. _How the hell did I know all that? _He sighed and spun about. At least the flies had stopped being so irritating and he really didn't want to think about what his sudden innate knowledge implied.

He had no reason to believe the little life facts his mind came up with, but they felt right. He'd always gone with his gut before. "Cassandra Martin. Green Ford Pick Up."

"...Thank you, Mr. Spencer. Mr. Guster."

They listened to the sharp clicks of her heels on the tile before Gus rounded on him. "What was that? Do you have any idea how much trouble we'll be in when they run the name and come up with NOTHING?! We'll go to jail! I can't urinate in public, Shawn! I can't!"

"Relax." Shawn answered. "Have a little faith." Because the buzzing wasn't just buzzing, and it freaked him out a little. The buzzing was what he had Gus for. _You know how I get when people start talking..._

END.

**Dark Archer: Why thank you! I'm glad I'm updating as well. Cas got the fishing thing from Dean, remember the scene in his mind where Dean was fishing on the dock? And Lassiter takes everything in stride. He always has Pineapples at hand, after all. Shawn makes sure of that. Why else does he give them to people as house presents? What did you mean by Season Finale? For Stargate or Supernatural? Ah, I plan to do a 'Deep Cover Mission: Part Two' eventually to explain about the 'Furlings'. I have much love for Cas.**

**RandomImagination: Thank you very much. I love Micheal, at least I love McNab-Micheal. I'll probably write something to explain away 'Back to the Future Part Two.' Besides, you don't threaten an Angels friends/family unless you WANT to get tossed into Hell. "Three down, four to go" refers the Seals of God. There are seven on them located on the various planes of Heaven. They serve like transformers to keep God's power from burning up whatever physical body he assumes. Mary Winchester and her merry band of dead-people are running amok trying to locate and activate them all. **

**To Everyone: SG-1 is friggan Awesome. No argument here. Oh, and I made an art to go with the story. Go to my profile and click the link to my Deviantart account to see it. It's called Gus 3:16  
**


	24. Snapshots

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**A/N- This chapter is a little depressing, I felt. So at the end we have the 'Omake Files'. I'll post the next scene in that little sub-plot with the next chapter! Virtual cookies to those who figure out the crossover. And am I the only one that found 'Dark Side of the Moon' depressing as heck? Curse you SPN writers! Curse you CW! ...though if I was God I might say something similar. Everyone expects him to fix everything.  
**

**Dark Archer- Chapter isn't particularly long, sorry, but I was having a little trouble getting the tone right. I really wanted to work the SF in.  
**

**Part Twenty Four- Snapshots  
**

Pie is one of the great treats of the world easily capable of being delicious with any fruity filling. It is made with buttery flaky crust and sugars. Some people put meat and vegetables in it. Cobblers are cheap pie knock-offs, but they add variety to the world and as such are permitted. All these thoughts flow through Shawn's mind as he follows Merry and Gus to the table.

Of course he likes pie. The only people who don't like some form of the delicious treat are evil.

But, as much as Shawn would like to shoot the breeze with the strange and somewhat disturbing little man, it's difficult to do so. He closes his eyes and sees what he knows. Bodies are dropping, souls are flying, and those left behind scream inside. Misguided children fight and fight and fight forever on the outskirts of perception.

He looks to the man and the book and _Knows_ without having ever cracked it open. His response to queries are automatic. _Something_ is going on. There's too many fronts being fought, too many things happening at once, and Shawn just wants to take a step back but the seals are being hunted down and he can't go upstairs or they'll find him (he left to get away from the loneliness brought on by masses bowing and scraping) and he doesn't want to stress his body because it's His body and He made it and... It's not Yang. He _Knows_ it's not her.

As much as he likes food Shawn isn't upset about leaving the unfinished pies behind.

* * *

The body lies there, the body of Michelle Grudacroft age twenty-five, slightly bent and Shawn feels the world drop away. _No!_ His hold is breaking, his human body wasn't meant to contain so much, and He slips out unseen as knowledge bombards him in a mis-mash of colors. For a split second he isn't Shawn, He is _All_, and when he looks down he sees what no one else would see.

Power is sloughed off with difficulty as he settles back in his body and attempts to sort out the knowledge.

* * *

When he looks at her he doesn't get angry. It is a small surprise Merry is an ordained minister, though that does explain why the first time Shawn met him he got goosebumps, but Shawn can't help but feel... something... for Yang. He knows she'll cooperate.

She's one his daughters, after all. Even lost in her own little world.

* * *

He's never been so proud.

_Alfred Hitchcock._ Gus figured it out.

That's why He loves humans.

* * *

"There's got to be a way out!"

Reality _shifts._ Shawn runs to the wall that has become a door and rushes out, but he's too late, and he's not going to mess with natural order like this. The man was strange and irritating but he didn't deserve to go out with a knife to the chest. "A flare gun?!" Shawn wonders just what was going on when the man was created, and promptly shuts off that line of thought.

"I was really counting on the element of surprise." Merry chokes out. Shawn feels his lips twitch. He does love them, so much, sometimes too much.

"There!" Gus shouts, but Shawn can't bring himself to look away. Whatever it was, it was _other._ Lassiter, Jules, and Gus all go running after the shadow. Shawn won't leave Merry to cross alone. He'll make sure he gets where he's going.

"Could you take care of Ben?"

"You hang on, there's help on the way." Meaningless reassurances. Merry won't make it, but tradition demands the statement.

"Do you think they have racquetball in heaven?"

Shawn smiles for real as he watches the soul shake loose. "I know they do." And he does. He really does.

* * *

They go back, and Shawn makes a mental note to get Yang more exercise time. Somehow. Still, he missed something because he was distracted, and he can't afford to be distracted.

Death is giving him a headache and Pestilence is gearing up for the long haul.

He holds the book cover up to the light and feels like he's standing on the edge of a volcano.

* * *

"There's no way we could have known." The Chief says it with a soft understanding voice, but it doesn't help. Not at all.

"Unless you're a psychic." _Unless you're God._ There is no excuse, none, for failing. It knew who he was and set him up in a position above all the others. To watch. To rule. He could rewrite history.

_No._ No. He won't do that. It would be cheating. It would make free-will pointless.

Shawn swallows and he can feel his body shifting, changing, _preparing_. If they want to dance, he'll dance, but the kid gloves are coming off. They'll be going after Abigail next, and he knows no human will be able to stop it.

* * *

Gus doesn't know for sure how he did it. Somehow, he held the clock back. In the paper he'll find out that the gears have to be replaced, and the hand itself has faint dents where his held it. When he points this out to Shawn the other man just smiles faintly.

"I knew I could count on you."

Sometimes the best defense is a good offense.

* * *

---OMAKE FILES----

The possibilities are infinite. No one knows this better than the Almighty, because he makes it so. Anything he imagines, anything he wills, comes into being.

"I can't wait to see their faces." Shawn murmured to himself as he adjusted his cowboy hat and left the dusty street to enter the bar. The time and place was ideal. Now he only needed to recruit his instrument of righteous vengeance. "Hey."

The large muscled man at the bar turned, beer in hand, and looked Shawn up and down in a threat assessment. While not short, Shawn knew he wasn't intimidating in the least and would ordinarily pose no threat to the mercenary. Of course the merc didn't know who he was.

"You need something?" The man asked with a gruff voice as his grip tightened on the handle of his mug.

In His periphery the Exalted one noted a table in the back a dark haired man in a long coat move one hand to the gun at his waist as the woman next to set down her own drink in anticipation. Shawn smiled. He liked loyalty in His creations.

"You're the man they call Jayne? I have a proposition for you." Shawn grinned brightly. "You'll need Vera. And Grenades."

END.


	25. Dialing Collect

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**A/N- Okay, so I'm pretty sure I saw Sage, AKA McNabb, on the latest episode preview as an angel fighting Castiel. If so, can we say SQUEEEEEEE!!!!  
**

**Part Twenty Five- Dialing Collect  
**

Bobby was sitting down, as he had grudgingly been doing frequently, and coming through old tomes on angel lore and the apocalypse when a phone started going off. He took off his hat, ran his hand through his hair, replaced his hat, and wheeled himself over to his 'Wall O' Phones'. Since none of the more dangerously labeled ones (FBI, CIA, IRS, NPS, CPS...) were ringing he continued rolling to the new wireless by the fridge.

"Singer." He called, thinking it was either a telemarketer or a hunter reporting in.

"Hey! Dude!" Bobby didn't recognize the voice, and it was far, far too cheerful to be a hunter. He could faintly hear waves in the background, and a car going by. His grip on the phone tightened.

"Who the Hell is this?!" He was two seconds from hanging up.

"God!"

Confusion and anger at the caller filled him, and he opened his mouth to give the idiot a piece of his mind when the bastard cut him off.

"You're totally healed!" The hunter jumped, ready to rant into the phone from anger at being mocked, when he froze as his mind caught up with what his body was doing. He was standing. Hesitantly, he took a step forward and marveled as every ache he ever had was suddenly _gone_. Quickly he lifted the phone back to his ear but was only greeted by the dial tone.

He punched Star Sixty Nine, held his breath as the numbers backtracked, and couldn't help but smile faintly as a recorded voice came through the speaker. "We're sorry. The number you have dialed is out of service..."

_Waves. Traffic. A beach? I've worked with less before._ He walked back to his research room and pulled out his maps.

* * *

Near the southern California coast, Shawn Spencer hung up the pay-phone he was using and turned to find a pair of confused children looking at him. They were eating ice cream, which made Shawn remember the cone that was dripping all over his hand. He quickly licked up the pineapple and strawberry mix.

"That phone is out-of-order." The girl stated matter-of-factually as she sucked on her fudge-sickle.

"Maybe." Shawn answered mischievously. "Or maybe it only works if you know the secret-special-super-spy-code to activate it."

He winked at the two kids and headed back down the beach where he and Jesse had spent the day building a replica of the Bastille out of sand. He pulled out his cell and hit speed dial one. "Hey Gus! I got our next case..."

* * *

---OMAKE FILES----

The shit had hit the fan. More than that. The shit had broken the blades and sent crappy debris flying as it reached LEO and came back down burning royal badness and destruction. Dean slammed his palm against a wall in frustration. He needed to focus on finding a solution and not on the half-gutted Jo bleeding to death on the floor.

And it wasn't like he could pick up the phone and call for an ambulance, even if the phones were working, not with the dozen or so Hellhounds surrounding the place. He couldn't be sure just how many of them were actually out there, they all looked the same and he COULD see them since his time in Hell, though they were invisible to everyone else.

At least he managed to take out one of the bastards.

Fucking Hellhounds.

Dean turned and headed over to the radio section. He couldn't think of a way out, but maybe Bobby could. Bobby was brilliant. The eldest Winchester started tearing through radios and piecing them back together mechanically, mentally cursing everything under the sun and doing his best to block out whimpers and false whispered reassurances. He was almost finished with the radio when distinctive automatic weapons fire rang out accompanied by a garbled shout.

"Gorram motherfuckers!" Mixed in with the reports of gunfire and male shouting was actual whimpering. Sam and Dean rushed to the window and Dean heard his brother mumble 'is it Mandarin?' while he watched in amazement as one of the Hellhounds ignited.

It didn't light up from the inside like the Colt would cause.

It went up like a bonfire of whines and turned to ash.

Then they saw him. Grinning like a kid in a candy store with a large gun that looked only vaguely familiar the man jumped onto the roof of an abandoned car and fired at the now frantic Hellhounds.

And he laughed, pausing only to pull the pin on what the Hunters could only assume to be a grenade and tossing it with pleasure to the side where it exploded in a flash of light and shrapnel that only left vaguely animal-shaped shadows on the wall.

"Boys!" Ellen shouted in question as she tightened her grip on both daughter and shotgun.

"I'm not sure..." Dean felt hope flutter in his chest, or maybe it was his heart failing, as he took his pistol from his waistband. The man fired a couple more rounds at the few retreating Hellhounds before grinning and hopping off the vehicle. He looked around, noted the hardware store, and ambled over with his big-ass gun resting on his shoulder.

He stopped and waited for Sam to undo the chains while Dean kept his colt at the ready. "So..." The man noticed Dean with approval. Jayne liked a man that didn't let his guard down. Harder to kill, but at least you knew where you stood with them. "You the Winchesters? You better be, because if I don't like rescuing folk without compensation."

END.

**A/N- I find it hilarious that Bobby would have a phone for child protective services. You don't think John was the ONLY hunter to drag his kids with him, did you?**


	26. Never Call During Dinner

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crack-Fic**

**A/N- Adam lives. Totally. Be warned, there be diabetes inducing sweetness ahead.**

**And we have the final installment of the Omake Files.**

**Dark Archer- Totally, you know Jesus didn't go in for the whole smoke and mirrors thing. Sure Shawn would probably do it if he had an audience, attention whore that he is, but over the phone miracles is just so much more convenient. Bobby may try to find him, but he won't.  
**

**Part Twenty Six- Never Call During Dinner  
**

LBC, also known as Little Boy Cat, was curled up next to her owner on the loveseat. Buzz was working on a crossword, occasionally moving to scratch under the cats chin even as her progeny batted at his feet. Francie had been worried at first about the population explosion, wanted to ship some of the kittens off to shelters, but Buzz couldn't bring himself to do that. While it was a little odd for a cat to have a virgin birth it was still a miracle and he liked having those around. Especially when they were so darn cute.

"Buzz-bee?" His wife called from the kitchen. "What kind of marinade sounds good to you? Orange brisk or barbecue?"

_Mmm. Chicken. _Buzz picked up his pen and filled in a few squares. "Both? What's a five letter word for good will?"

"...Grace?"

"Thanks hon." _Totally should have known that._ Buzz jotted it down and listened contentedly to the soft sounds of his favorite female as she bustled around the kitchen, pots scraping against the oven rack, and voice singing along to some country tune. She was gorgeous, and as the cop leaned into the couch he could imagine the way her brunette hair would be falling from the bun after a day working at the tree nursery. She waltzed into the living room while wiping her hands on a frilly purple apron. He smiled at her. "Have I told you today that I love you?"

"Why yes." Francine purred back as she plucked the crossword from his hands and straddled her husband. "This morning in fact. But I think you were talking to my breasts then."

"I was. I love all of you. Your breasts, your lips," his hands wrapped around her side. "Your hips, your cute little toes..."

She smiled and touched her nose to his. "I'm making cookies for dessert."

"I love those too."

They sat snuggling on the couch and Buzz breathed in her scent. He really loved people, God's greatest creations. He was perfectly content to sit back and let lovely Francie use him as her personal full body cushion. Then she could feed him chicken and potatoes and they could have warm gooey chocolate chip cookies and milk. Heavenly.

_Zodi re do. No ko. _

Buzz frowned. "Babe, did you hear that?"

_A-be ra, ma gay. _

"Hear what?"

_ Na zohd, pay. Sa. De._

Buzz blinked. "Oh, crap." He was being called for, by family, and he really didn't have much option but to follow it. Francie held his face in her hands.

"Buzz-bee? Buzz!" The unknown wife of Heaven's Prince screamed as her husband vanished to the sound of wing beats and a flash of light.

* * *

It had been awhile since he'd been in this form; all light and power. That's what it was. Light and power, pure fire, and a pain in the butt. Everything he tried to touch would catch flame, anyone who looked at him would fry from the inside, and his voice would shatter their ear drums. It was hard to interact with the world when your very presence was hazardous to it.

Still, it did have perks, and it was his natural and most comfortable form. Micheal flew along the summons to resign himself to his _true_ vessel, which he thought was a little over rated, and gave a celestial sigh. Things would certainly be awkward if he ever managed to get back to his beautiful wife. At least he set up enough investments, traveling was dead useful in that respect, that she would never have difficultly supporting herself. Happy with the knowledge that she would be secure he slipped into the space bubble that the angels had built in California and looked around.

"Huh." He gazed upon the carelessly thrown body of Zachariah, the stylishly burned wings signifying his demise, and smiled. "Guess that means the Chief is going to need a new coroner." His awareness turned his attention to the young man staring at him, blood dripping from his eyes and ears, shaking by the door. "Oh. I don't suppose you want to say yes?"

He took the enthusiastic shaking of the head as a 'no'. The boy swallowed, looked around, and tried to talk. His voice was pretty battered and Micheal correctly assumed it was from the copious amounts of blood being coughed up. "You're a cop? Somehow, I'm not surprised."

Micheal tilted his head to listen to the soft fluttering that signaled the approach of lesser-order angels and frowned. He didn't want to deal with any fanboys at the moment. Carefully, oh-so-carefully because he didn't want to burn out his current body thank-you-very-much, he gathered his power and twisted reality.

* * *

OMAKE FILES:

Jayne looked around. It wasn't hard not to notice the girl bleeding her guts out. She reminded him of Kaylee, of his sisters, and he groaned. "Gorram it!" He glared accusingly at the four people. Mysterious Man was paying him to assist the Winchesters, and with a legendary name like that he was already inclined to do it, and the guy's son. Take out the mutated dogs and get them the thrice-blessed ammo to kill the Big Bad.

He should have been in, out, paid and on with life. With gold and a nice little vaccine it was rather nice and opportunity Mal would not (air lock jettison was not a way he wanted to go) let him pass up. Really. The whole time-travel stick was freakier than hell but while he was doing the hero thing the others were gathering up a few objects to pawn once they got back to _their_ black.

Hopefully they wouldn't have to worry about Gas for a looooong while.

Not to mention the promised vaccine. Wouldn't reverse what had already been done but it would keep them from turning Reaver.

Jayne sighed and pulled out his com link, keeping one eye on the Hunters. "Wash. I got wounded. Don't look like she can move much. Can you fit 'tween the buildings?"

The handset crackled. "My baby? No... these streets are too narrow, not that my girl is fat! She's wonderfully trim! Hum... I could lower the ramp and you should be able to jump. Be there in a sec. River's freaking out and taking Zoe to, and I quote, 'retrieve the caged falcon from the burning ring of fire'."

"Yeah. Sure." Jayne put the link back in his pocket and nodded to the wounded girl. "You'll want to grab her. We got a Doc on board Serenity that should be able to do something."

Sam paused. "Who are you?" All of the Hunters had heard the response from the radio and had no doubt in their minds about who the caged falcon was. Dean wanted to know where the man had gotten his guns. Anything that could do what he saw to a Hellhound he wanted.

He really hated Hellhounds.

"I'm Jayne." The man cracked a smile and fiddled with a thin chain around his neck, slowly drawing forth the cross dangling from it. He stared at in in bemusement before shrugging as a high pitched whine of engines approached the town. "God sent me."

Dean carried Jo as they walked outside, eyes popping.

"And that, people, is our ride."

* * *

Shawn sat back on the couch as Gus passed over the popcorn bowl. "You know, I never really thought about the term 'gob-smacked' until now."

Shawn chuckled and chewed on a Twizzler. "After everything that's happened to them, you think a spaceship arriving from the future to save their asses would be expected."

"Maybe someone from the future," Gus agreed. "But a spaceship? I mean, you just had to pick them? Why?"

Shawn just smiled and began singing off key. "He robbed form the rich, and he gave to the poor..." The two friends broke down in giggles as the television continued playing the events of another, parallel reality.

END.


	27. Don't Piss Off the Nerd Angels

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crack-Fic**

**Part Twenty Seven- Don't Piss Off the Nerd Angels**

As usual, SG1 was experiencing a running retreat. As usual, they were running from a group of some minor Goa'uld Jaffa despite the fact that all intelligence had told them the planet was unoccupied and abandoned for several centuries since the small naquadah mines ran out. What Jack really wanted was a mission where they were to go into heavily fortified enemy territory for some ludicrous object of ludicrousness. He'd bet dollars to donuts every last one of his team would come home without a scratch.

It was these supposedly simple surveying missions that got them. Every. Damn. Time.

Jack ducked and rolled behind a handy mound of rocks covered in lichen he was fairly sure were not supposed to be glowing like that. Of course, it was an alien planet. He could be wrong.

The metallic tang of ozone filled his nose as staff shots hit his small shelter. The radio by his shoulder crackled to life as his second-in-command's voice warbled out. "Sorry, Sir. We can't get to the gate." Jack growled and popped over his cover just long enough to fire a round at the evil-brainwashed-alien-zombie-slaves, more commonly known as Jaffa, and felt a surge of satisfaction as one tumbled back dropping his weapon. He reached for his radio in the brief lull.

"I don't need to hear that, Carter."

"It's not a question of being outnumbered, they've, they've taken away the DHD! Probably to make sure we can't run." There was a stream of weapons fire. "Teal'c and I are headed back your way."

Jack growled that she better not get herself killed, and made a run for where Daniel had taken shelter. The military minded man stared at the young archaeologist in awe. "How the hell can you be calmly poking at rocks when we're being fired upon?" Jack ducked down as the electric sizzle of a zat, which he assumed to mean they wanted to take them alive, flew past his head. "Come _on_, Spacemonkey, we need to find a more defensible position."

Daniel shook off Jack's arm and looked at his friend. Jack groaned. It was _that_ look, the look that said I'm-this-close-to-figureing-out-the-meaning-of-life-slash-reason-why-everyong-on-this-planet-have-turned-into-giant-flying-elephants-and-so-help-me-I-will-**end**-you-if-you-interrupt-my-thinking-process. There were only two ways of dealing with Daniel when he was like this. One was getting Teal'c to manhandle him until he bowed to sane people logic, the second was knocking him out and having Teal'c carry him like a sack of potatoes back to base until Janet could figure out what was wrong with him. Sadly, Teal'c was with Carter.

"Look at the way these stones are set up." Daniel gestured, and by God, Jack could see the little notebook in his hand with a pencil threaded between his fingers. "It's not natural! And a few of these stones have symbols that I'm positive I've seen before."

Jack fired and scanned the immediate area. The Jaffa seemed to be regrouping. He glanced at the rocks in question that looked like ordinary rocks to him. Sure they had a few little wiggles on them but they didn't look very special. "Erosion. Now lets go, I think they're trying to flank us. Damn smart for Jaffa."

"But Jack!" Daniel insisted even as the other man gripped his arm firmly and began pushing him to the distant line of conifer trees.

"Ah-ah! Less talking, more running." The colonel quickly glanced back over the clearing and, low-and-behold, the funky glowing of the moss was spreading. He didn't like _that_ one bit. Glowing things rarely boded good tidings for SGC personnel.

"I think it's some kind of communication device. The writing is weathered, I'll admit, but with time-"

"Time we don't have!" They made it to the tree's, and stopped short because of the Jaffa blocking their path as he had be right and they did flank them. Damnit.

"JackO'Neill, you will surrender as is the will of our God-urk!" The lead Jaffa attempted to intone dramatically but failed due to the sudden hail of gunfire that opened from a group of bushes some distance away. Jack and Daniel rolled to safety as Jack winced at the bullet that grazed his arm. Carter was being awfully sloppy.

"You know any god's called Urk?" Jack asked with a slight pant as he fired at a few of the still standing Jaffa, but they quickly went down due to the pincer-like attack.

Daniel fired a few shots of his own from where he crouched along the ground. "No. Can't say I have." With the immediate threat dealt with all members of SG1 met up and moved deeper into the woods.

"Carter, Teal'c, you okay?"

"I am uninjured, O'Neill." The large intimidating Jaffa proclaimed solemnly.

"Yes, Sir. There was only a token guard at the gate, for obvious reasons." The thin blonde responded as she switched out her magazine for a fresh clip. "We could manually dial the gate, but without a power source..."

"I knew I should have packed the kitchen sink." Jack grumbled. They marched stealthily through PL07-544's dense forest, barely avoiding two Jaffa patrols and all the while Daniel flipped back and forth through his little notebook.

"It's a geoglyph!" Daniel hissed in triumph when they paused for a break.

"What?"

"A geoglyph. You know, those earthworks you see in Peru, sometimes people make them in crop circles or deserts for festivals, pictures made out of the environment that can only be seen from the sky? Back there, I think it was part of one. But more than art I think it was some kind of, kind of communication system." Daniel sighed. "If only I had my books. The writing was just so weathered I can't remember which language it is. I would need to compare side-by-side to be sure. I mean, from the ruins it's clear there was some kind of evacuation and that someone came to help out. Maybe the geoglyph was used to ask for that help."

Carter got her 'thinking' expression. "Sort of like how cast-aways will spell out a SOS using flotsam and jetsam on a beach?"

"Exactly! On earth there's plenty of theorists who think that the Inca civilization might have been attempting to contact aliens with theirs."

Teal'c spoke from his sentry position. "Do you think to attempt using the geoglyph as the Tollan's did to contact the Nox?"

"I don't see how it could hurt."

Jack checked his gun and grumbled. "Unless their not a very sociable species and decide not to answer."

Carter unscrewed the cap on her canteen and took a drink. "There's still the problem of a power source. Assuming Daniel's right, unless these aliens are actively watching the planet, which is highly doubtful, we'd need to be able to trigger the glyph into sending the message. Of course we've seen nothing in the ruins or anywhere else that could be considered advanced technology to power Daniel's geoglyph." She sighed. "We don't know where they stashed the DHD and from what Teal'c and I over heard they'll be getting reinforcements in two days."

Jack wasn't happy. He wasn't happy at all. The back of his head beat a soft rythm against the abandoned pueblo-like building they hid in trying to think up a solution to get his team back home. _Power source. Power source. Power... Source! "_Carter, do you think you could try that thing Mrs. World Destroyer did?"

"Sir?" Carter questioned.

"Jack?" Daniel spoke confused.

"You know, what's-her-name, with the funky roots on prison-planet." Jack responded easily. "The moss back there was kinda creepy with the glowing."

Daniel blinked and leaned against the chipped wall. "The moss was glowing?"

Jack thought it was a little sad that he didn't feel the slightest surprise. "You mean you notice the barely readable alien chicken-skratch but not the neon moss covering the rocks it's written on?" At least Carter was looking thoughtful, which meant they'd have some kind of plan soon.

* * *

Sekel sat on a simple swing in a tower. She was not a particularly powerful angel, fighting wasn't her specialty, mostly she strove to encourage harmony between her brothers and sisters and, occasionally, give aid to those that knew how to summon her. She wasn't sure why she had been chosen for this assignment. It was a strange experience to be sent out to a whole other reality that the Host hadn't spent six thousand years exploring and learning about. Not to mention the remaking process as their father sent them out into new shapes to better adapt to this new world. It was exciting, thrilling, and she was terrified of failing in her duty to Him.

But she would not turn back! She would do her best and trust in His plan and His judgment! There was no room for doubt in the armies of Heaven. (Though some recently began saying if you didn't get it straight from the Father's mouth to take everything with a douse of skepticism.) Despite her qualms about the assignment, the orders of deception that were just plain odd, she intended to perform to the best of her ability. Sekel hummed low in her throat and directed the communication systems her brothers and sisters were busy putting the finishing touches on. It was so different from regular 'angel radio'. Normally they could communicate with a thought, all those connected to Heaven connected to each other, but here they had to make changes. Sekel stroked her new wing, a soft sparrow-like brown but massive and strong enough to carry her even without grace.

She felt a charge run over her arms and blinked. It felt vaguely familiar. "Castiel, brother, I think-"

By the time he reached the tower she was gone.

* * *

"Carter! Could you speed it up!" Jack asked he found himself once again ducking down. After trying to move the moss in order to get it to charge the gate, Daniel took a wild guess and found out that blood acted as a catalyst for the glowing, they discovered it withered and died when taken too far from the geoglyph. Plan B was taking a little too long and if something didn't happen soon they would be overwhelmed and taken prisoner.

"We're trying!" Daniel yelled back from his crouched position. He turned to address Sam, who held a knife in one hand and figurine they'd spent hours tracking down made of crystal, and ran his fingers over weathered inscriptions. "This either means facing the rising sun, or facing the creator, or facing the direction of the sun."

"East! Go with East!" Jack called and rattled off another volley. "Rises in the east and sets in the west, right?"

"That's on Earth! This is P-whatever! The sun rises in the north." Sam hissed back as she set the base of the state in a small indentation that looked to be designed just for that purpose.

"Go with East anyway!"

Sam twisted and the small winged statue clicked into place facing the east. She took and knife and quickly nicked her fingertips. _Not so different from doing a diabetes test, really. Only I don't have an insulin problem and if this doesn't work we will be screwed. _A wave of light spread out from the statue as the plants around them lit up with a soft neon-glow. The Jaffa paused in their assault. Jack opened his mouth to get off one final comment on failing expectations when the statue let out a high pitched whine and the light from the moss intensified. SG1 hit the ground and closed their eyes as the light became blinding.

"-that some is summoning me." A soft feminine voice called over the field.

Jack blinked the spots from his vision and looked at the brunette standing by Sam and Daniel. She was wearing white leather, and looked quite nice in it with a soft base knitted coat over the armor. He noticed the two extra appendages behind her and grinned. "So, Furling?"

Sam and Daniel stood and scrambled back. The new woman blinked owlishly at Jack. She seemed to be considering her answer carefully. "...yes. Why have you summoned me?"

"Well, we kinda need EVAC, if you wouldn't mind." He gestured to the armed Jaffa coming up, and low-and-behold they had their Goa'uld with them. Jack grimaced. He really hoped the Furling had a way to get back to where she came from. If not he would feel really bad about dragging her into their fight; SG1 was all but out of ammo.

She frowned. "I don't understand the term 'EVAC'..." She watched the Jaffa approach curiously, and all Jack could think of was when the Castiel guy showed up and asked why he fished in a pond when there were no fish in it and that he must have had incredible levels of faith. Weird bunch.

The Goa'uld smirked. "Tau'ri. Taking you alive has been a pleasure and will ensure my place as a System Lord. Should you bow before me now, I may be convinced to make your stay in my torture chambers a bit... shorter."

What happened next Jack would not forget, and he was pretty sure Teal'c wouldn't either. The Furling that had arrived went stock still and stared at the Goa'uld with an intensity that could have murdered. There was a story behind that, certainly. Her voice was cold. "I bow to one Man, and you are not Him." You could hear the capitals in that statement.

The Goa'uld sneered as his eyes flashed. "I am a god! Now your God! Do well to remember that!" He thrust his hand out and the ribbon device let out a beam of energy that slammed into the Furling with the intent of teaching the infidel a lesson.

The Furling didn't move. Instead the energy seemed to be absorbed into her and crackle as her wings quivered and unfurled. The look of apathy transformed into pure rage. "How dare you! How dare you even think to claim to be my Lord! He is far greater and wiser than you could ever hope to be! Posturing with worshipers and... and... such arrogance! A true god would not need to force worship!" The woman actually started to faintly glow she was so angry. Her voice lowered as she held out a hand and a Jaffa's staff weapon ripped from his grip into hers. "Now I understand why He sent us here."

"Holy..." Daniel trailed off as the Furling moved forward impossibly fast, wings slicing like blades even as she used the staff weapon as it's name implied.

"Indeed." Teal'c watched with calculating eyes. "I believe they would make most useful allies."

END.


	28. PreBattle Planning

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Pysch Crack-Fic**

**A/N- "Did you just malatov my brother?" "Cas, are you God?" Yeah, aside from extreme angst last nights Finale was choc full of extreme awesome. I have no idea how they're going to get a sixth season out of it because Dean deserves some down time but... Wow. Now the question is, is Chuck 'God' or could he be Gabriel in disguise all along? Gabriel is the arch angel of messages or somthing, right? Anyway, back to our (semi) regularly schedualed fic. It's short as I'm currently struggling with another chapter. Got all the ideas but can't seem to get them out.  
**

**Part Twenty Eight- Pre-Battle Planning  
**

"It's the Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny!" Shawn tried to explain for the fifth time. Sometimes, Gus just didn't get it. "We have to be there!"

"No, Shawn." His best friend shut down all his arguments as he began stuffing all Shawn's carefully put together case file into the trash can. "It's too dangerous. Whether its demons," he swallowed nervously. "Or just some crazy terrorist group, it's bigger than us. You should call the Chief, or the vatican, or something."

"You aren't getting it!" The holy detective whined as he squirmed in his seat. "They never listen to Mulder, they won't listen to us!" He jumped up, took a breath, and put his hands on Gus's shoulders. Looking deep into the other man's eyes, Shawn asked him: "What would Bruce Campbell do?"

With that one calculated blow Gus's resolve broke. "Okay. But you better have a plan." He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, Shawn hurried after him while reaching for his helmet.

"Oh. I do. It's like my health plan: Don't die."

"Shawn!"

"Hey, relax." The Spencer gave him a confident grin as he pulled out his cell phone. "Though, you might have something with calling in help."

* * *

Deep in the Brazilian rainforest a woman-shaped being rain through the canopy. Her eyes sparkled with joy even as her expression was locked in stony determination. Her bare feet used a massive tree trunk as a springboard startling a bright yellow snake away from it's prey as she zipped past. She could see it zipping around the trees trying to outrun her. The redheaded hunter narrowed her eyes and reached up for the weapon that always hovered just above her head when not in use. The ring of metal warmed in her hand as she twirled and launched it like a discus.

The ring cut through dense foliage like a hot knife through butter before striking the dark cloud of demonic energy. The cloud lit up briefly exploding into a cloud of ash as it died; the blessed chakram circling around to resume it's standard position and fading from mortal sight.

The huntress dusted off her hands with a thought, what little ash had reached her banished back to the ether, when a soft tune began to play. Blinking in confusion she felt around her body and discovered a pocket she had somehow not noticed before then. A sleek and small phone came out still playing 'Killer Queen' and she snapped it open. "...hello?" Tears pricked her eyes as she smiled. "Daddy!"

* * *

OMAKE

(from 'Never Call During Dinner')

"Oh, the poor thing." Francie cooed as she wiped some blood away from unconscious boy's mouth. "Why would your little brother do something like this?"

Buzz Mcnab, AKA Archangel Michael, shrugged. "He's just not a nice person?" He looked at the young man's face and brushed back his hair. There was a current of electricity that shot through him, buzzing just under the skin. Definitely a vessel of some caliber, then, probably his. "Can we keep him?"

The woman sighed and dropped her cloth into a waiting bowl of water. She snorted and rounded on her husband. "He's not a dog, dear. As soon as he wakes up he can call whoever he needs to." Her fingers worked to loosen the bloodstained shirt. "Where did you find him again?"

When the boy did wake up he cursed the fact he never bothered to get his brothers phone numbers, and that he didn't know where Bobby's place was. Angel teleportation is really bad for directions.

End.


	29. Ruby's Knife: Origins

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack Fic**

**A/N- This chapter is mostly pre-pre story; And God always dies young and bloody.  
**

**Dark Archer- Thanks for the faith on my writing. This chapter was kinda hard to write, but I'll be sure to update weekly now that Summer is here. I'm thinking friday's unless my internets goes out. Shawn hasn't fought Lucifer yet, he will, but that will be a chapter unto itself. And Sam and Dean are totally going to meet Buzz!Micheal at the 'final battle'. Oh! I made another image that I posted on my deviantArt, go check it out!  
**

**Part Twenty Nine- Ruby's Knife: Origins**

_"This isn't my first time in a coffin." - Shawn Spencer: Shawn (and Gus) of the Dead_

_"I'll reap God." - Death: Two Minutes to Midnight_

_"Then Jesus asked him, 'What is your name?' He replied, 'My name is Legion; for we are many.' He begged him earnestly not to send them out of the country. Now there on the hillside a great herd of swine was feeding; and the unclean spirits begged him, 'Send us into the swine; let us enter them.' So he gave them permission. And the unclean spirits came out and entered the swine; and the herd, numbering about two thousand, rushed down the steep bank into the sea, and were drowned in the sea." - Mark 5.9-13_

A mug of honey soaked grog slammed onto the rough hewn table as Jacob muttered curses under his breath. He checked the fletching on his arrows for what felt like the hundredth time and looked over his neighbors. Young Micheal bounced on his toes with eagerness to join the hunt but his parents wouldn't allow it. Maybe in another year or two, but for now the ten year old had a grace period. Jacob scratched at his scalp and scowled. "Where in the seven hells is my bloody knife?"

Carpenter looked over at his disgruntled friend and sighed. "S'gone?" He wiped at his streaming nose with a dirt covered sleeve and spat into the dirt. "He's angry with us, that's certain. Too much pride."

"Probably." Jacob grumbled as he squinted ale-addled eyes at the merchant arguing with their blacksmith. No one knew why their little village was missed by the black plague, they'd had enough of the infected or infected associated come through on their journey's to bigger settlements for cures, but they were. The fiefdoms to the north and east were devastated and they'd yet to get a single afflicted from their own people. The merchant had moved in with his daughters, boasting about how blessed the land was and other crock, and now they had more trouble than they ever wanted. "I can think of a few elements that might need some purifying."

Giving his friend a sick grin Carpenter tested the blade of his ax and chucked miserably. He'd recently come down with a bad cold. It wasn't the dreaded plague but the carver had never been sick before in his life. Everyone in the community was high strung with night attacks already; his illness didn't bode well. "I'll not argue with that, but it's up to the Lord to get rid of them."

Jacob settled his quiver into place as the leader of their little hunting expedition arrived. The Lords middle son sat on a well aged horse wearing a gleaming sword belted at his hip and a crossbow hanging from the saddle. A pair of trained hounds kept close by the hooves of the russet-colored horse, ears flicked back in readiness. Jacob watched as the nobel went to speak to the merchant and a warm anger filled his breast.

The merchant's daughter peaked out the door and sneered at them as she sniffed at the embroidered cloth she held to cover her nose before disappearing back inside the cottage.

Jacob growled and spun on his heel nearly running into his little sister. "Jac!" The little dirt covered shepherdess squeaked, eyes widening before hitting the hard packed mud road in submission. "Brother."

The woodsman sighed and knelt down, hands on her tiny shoulders, and queried. "Bess?" His eyes narrowed as he caught a glint of something being concealed behind her back. "What did you do?"

"I'm sorry. I wanted to make it better." He offered his hunting knife and Jacob pursed his lips. The blade had been expensive, he still owed the man that made it another three winters of work, and his little sister had marked it up. Mostly likely with a rock. "I helped out Nanny May last year before she... went away... and I remember she had squiggles on her rocks. She said it made them special and I..."

He'd never been able to stay mad at her when she was crying. "Thanks Bessi." The little girl smiled through her tears and went running between the gathered men to be lost between the cottages and wandering farm animals. Jacob brushed his fingers over the scratches on the blade and tucked it into his boot. It wasn't cold enough to demand footwear yet, but something inside him didn't want to leave the house without them. Listening to that little bit of instinct had paid off.

The lord's son accepted a small wrapped package from the merchant and remounted his horse. "Men! For too long we've let this animal rule our christian lands! It stops now!" The horse pranced in place for a moment before snorting and charging off as the hounds gave rough yips and followed.

Next to him, Carpenter shrugged and sniffled as he followed his own path. They all knew they were going to the Rickman's stead where the last attack had occurred. From there the dogs would catch the scent and then the real hunt would begin.

* * *

"Good Lord Above," Carpenter gasped out. He crouched against a tree clutching the splintered shaft of his ax. Blood dripped in artistic splatters along the fallen leaves as the man shook. "Did you see? Did you see what it did to Samuels? It's not... it's got to be..."

Jacob swallowed and nodded, eyes frantically darting around the forest for any sign of the creature. It was far from a normal boar; even a crazed one. With his eyes wide open Jacob could still see everything clearly as if the image was forever burned into his skull. Samuels had moved first and struck the beast, but it had just kept coming. It shrugged off the blades and barbs hitting it like they were nothing more than water.

It killed the hounds, crushed them under it's devil-cloven hooves, and _ate_ Samuels.

Jacob fought to keep down his bread as bile rose in his throat and his eyes stung with tears. "We need a priest. God Almighty." He felt too hot like his whole body was alight with fever and he dropped his bow in favor of fighting with the ties on his tunic.

"We're dead. Dead. If it's not the plague it's a pig." Carpenter shivered deliriously from blood loss. "It smashed through a tree, Jac. A Tree."

He coughed and spasmed, pupils blown wide in panic, before he stilled and gasped. "Carpenter? Carpenter!" Jacob hissed with worry as he ripped at the fabric of his friends breeches and gaped at the wound. It was green and festering with obvious infection. He could feel angry heat radiating from it just by passing his hand close. "...Goodbye, friend."

Reverently, he closed the dead staring eyes of his best friend and backed away. He still had a job to do. Half the hunting party was gone, run off or dead, and he couldn't risk being taken unawares. The monster was still out there. He picked up his bow, restrung it with the confidence born of practice, and headed off.

Jacob's feet were as silent as he could manage in the undergrowth as he tried to track the beast. The stench of rotten eggs drifted as if in warning and he kept an arrow ready on the taught string.

His stomach twisted, a bead of sweat rolled down his back, and that sudden heat rolled through him. Instinctively Jacob spun and let his arrow fly. The thing hardly even noticed as it charged forward bringing with it visions of fire and the smell of sulfuric brimstone. Jacob backpedalled and managed to fire a second shot, this shaft of his arrow sticking out of the beasts eye like a morbid flag, before the monster covered the distance and hit him. Jacob went flying. His bow broke against a different tree as his ribs cracked against another. His remaining arrows spilled from their quiver and the monster squealed.

The woodsman's hands came up to cover his ears from the pain and he grit his teeth as it rooted around, taking its time, playing with him. It killed Samuels, the lords son, Harrison, Luke, and Carpenter. It knew it could take it's time. Jacob wasn't going anywhere. Not when he could see white bone poking through his trousers.

But this thing was killing.

It had gone after the lords livestock. Had been destroying their crops.

It killed his friends.

Suddenly, with perfect clarity, Jacob could see what it would do if not stopped. He growled low in his throat and reached for the knife in his boot. His fingers wrapped around the unique antler grip as the beast approached in utmost confidence.

He could practically see the evil radiating off of it as blood leaked from it's numerous wounds. It didn't seem to notice.

He was going to make it notice.

Jacob struggled to stand as waves of pain and heat washed through his body. Blood, sweat, and tears mingled as he faced off against the monster and it froze. Jacob screamed his challenge and stumbled forward. The monster crossed the remaining distance in a blink and struck with it's tusk ripping through the man's stomach and intestines. The knife in Jacob's hand felt like a burning coal as he screamed. He held onto the rough, poisonous fur of the possessed animal and buried his knife into the neck of the monster.

"DIE DEMON!"

The monster stumbled, squeals capable of shattering glass and eardrums ringing through the forest, and it went into death throws. Jacob watched from where he fell, organs spilled in the dirt and debris, as sparks lit up the monster from the inside.

* * *

She stepped cautiously through the forest, the hem of her dress hiked up to avoid the dead leaves and other trash, looking for her targets. Her teacher had told her not to do it. She was too young. Too inexperienced.

Her teacher had been right, but she was too dead to say 'I told you so'.

The blonde woman grimaced as the smell of the dead and rapidly decaying hit her. She sniffed at her linen and stopped in shock at the sight before her. Without the trees and brush getting in the way, she could clearly see the devastation.

It was dead.

She smiled and stepped up to the demon boar gripped the small hunting knife that had, she assumed, performed the killing blow. She nearly fell pulling it out, and inspection of the metal blade reveled a curious combination of symbols. She didn't recognize them, but she had time. She'd figure it out. They looked like nonsense to her now but surely someone would recognize them.

Until then, she'd keep the blade. A demon killing blade would be oh-so useful if one of them got out of control again.

Smiling, Ruby offered a curtsy to the human corpse lying not five feet from her aborted summons.

* * *

"Shawn. Shawn. Shaaaaawn." Jules called as she snapped her fingers before the eyes of her favorite psychic. He was just staring off into the middle distance while her co-workers worked around him. The SBPD were fairly used to the odd goings-on of the (unofficial) Head Psychic. At least he wasn't dancing around and messing up paperwork.

Shawn slowly blinked and looked around with a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. He hopped off the desk he was sitting on and grinned. The young officer who owned the desk looked up at the sudden movement before resuming his doodle on the back of a police report. "Jules! Aren't we looking," hazel eyes took a moment to take in her outfit. "Jessica Rabbit-ish today."

"It's for the costume party," she answered while taking out a compact and checking her red wig. "Aren't you going to get dressed?"

"I am! Just give me a second..." He ran over to the visitors desk and rifled through the drawers before pulling out the blank name tags. "Ah ha."

"...God." She raised an eyebrow at him. "You totally stole that from Buffy."

"Perhaps, or did they steal it from me? I work in mysterious ways, after all, very mysterious." He nodded sagely while attempting a James Earl Jones voice. He did not succeed. "Besides, wait till you see Gus! And Lassi!"

The two detectives headed towards the door of the station, waving to Buzz who for some reason was wearing a cutlass with his uniform as they left, and Jules pulled at the sleeves on her gloves. "I didn't think he was coming. Lassiter... doesn't seem to like Halloween. Or rather he likes it a little too much. He was saying something about extra patrols and arresting egg throwers."

Shawn shrugged as he slung his arm around the temporary red heads shoulders. "Everyone likes dressing up! Now, have I ever told you about the time I was gored to death by a giant boar?"

End.


	30. Phone Tag

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**A/N- I need to write more humor chapters... it's gonna get heavy during the final battle. I was going to bring back Ellen and Jo anyway, but then Ash's comment about him not knowing they were dead gave me this idea. **

**Dark Archer- Thank you! I remember watching the speacial features on the DVD set and they were like, 'we'll never reveal the secrets of Ruby's knife' and 'the symbols don't really mean anything!'. I was a little disappointed, but imagine how Ruby felt when she realized she couldn't duplicate the knife.**

**Joniskpelare- I'm glad you like it, as for following it is 'bouncing around', there isn't a whole lot of pattern to the writing though I am trying to keep the timeline clear. Thanks for reading!**

**Chapter Thirty: Phone Tag**

*Beep. Beep. Beep.*

Her mouth was dry and her body was sore. The relentless, dull, tones of some machine was breaking through a carefully maintained haze of drugs and denial. She didn't want to wake up. She didn't want to think of what that would mean... where she might be. Who she might be with.

*Beep. Beep. Beep.*

Ellen's breathing hitched as her sluggish mind finally started connecting the dots. Her wants didn't factor into the situation: she was a hunter, the wife of a hunter, a mother and none of that permitted self-pity. She had to take stock of her situation and figure out what had happened. Where was Jo? Was she dead? Were they both dead?

*Beep.*

Bright warm yellow light blinded her as she opened her eyes and tried to sit up. She _had_ to find Jo. The last thing she remembered; she wished she couldn't. Not seeing Hellhounds was a real blessing, considering what she had witnessed those few seconds before pressing the button she'd seen what all those crossroad dealing idiots had seen. They were like living nightmares of burning flesh and bone.

And those things had ripped into her daughter. Her _daughter_.

Ellen inhaled sharply as she swung her legs off the bed causing pain to cut sharply through her body. The heart monitor was going crazy next to the bed. She ripped the node of her finger with a scowl and the irritating noise changed to a constant dying whine barely drowning out the the running footsteps her actions had attracted.

Ellen's head shipped around at the gasping and she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. For all she knew this was all some demon mind game.

Though she didn't think that demons normally wore nuns. Few could walk on holy ground or stand holy water so how would the hell spawn handle riding around in a servant of the faith?

"Oh. Thank goodness." The young woman in the doorway motioned to, Ellen presumed, a gaggle of nurses and security. She sighed and placed a hand on her chest as she got her breathing under control from the mad dash. "Please, calm down."

For a such a thin frame there was surprising strength in the woman when she bustled Ellen back onto the bed. The hunter eyed the rosary at the other woman's waist and contemplated reaching for it; there was some water on the desk to the side. "Where's Jo?" Her voice sounded even more grave than usual with the sensuality of it taken away by the dryness. The nun noticed and poured some of the water into a waiting plastic glass with a little hum.

"Jo? Would that be the little blonde with the abdominal trauma?" The nun asked softly as she handed over the glass.

The memory of heavy breathing and blood spurting from her only daughters wound flash bulbed in Ellen's mind. The older woman blinked away the image and swallowed her fear. She eyed the container, eyed the door, sniffed surreptitiously at the liquid and took a hesitant sip. It was only slightly below room temperature and so soothing on her abused throat. "We were attacked. By animals." The lie tumbled from her mouth with practiced ease but something sparked in the nun's eyes. She didn't believe her. Ellen schooled her features to hide her surprise at the other woman's apparent astuteness but refused to lie down. Ellen winced as the pain increased from her moving.

"I see." The nun responded with lidded eyes. "Can you tell me anything else, you gave Sister Rose quite the scare when you appeared."

"Appeared?"

The religious woman nodded and smoothed her black skirt. "Yes. You appeared in a flash of light in the sanctuary shortly before evening devotions. The two of you were terribly burned." The woman smiled, blue eyes sparkling with warmth. "Of course at Saint Thomas of the Apostles we are both hospital and church. We were fully able to care for you and your... daughter? It is little wonder the Lord chose us for your care."

"I want to see her. How is she?" Ellen demanded softly. Hope flared in her chest as much as she wanted to quash it down. Good things never happened without some sort of catch. Even if the angels, maybe God, had got them out of the blast zone before they died there had to be a reason. Probably to be used as bargaining chips to force Sam and Dean to say yes. But that didn't mean the nun had it out for them. She was probably just another deluded pawn being tricked with empty promises.

Ellen jumped when the other woman's hand touched hers. "She's still not awake. Her injuries were far more extensive than yours and has yet to emerge from the coma. It is actually something of miracle you two have healed as much as you have and without scarring. If you would just wait a moment, I'll send for a wheel chair and take you to her Mrs...?"

Ellen stared at her, wary and confused, before sighing. "Harvelle. Ellen Harvelle."

The nun knelt down while taking Ellens hands as if in a prayer. "You need not worry. Trust in the Lord, he brought you to us. While we may not understand his reasons or methods, he is loving and just. You and your daughter are going to be fine."

_I really wish I could believe that. _"May I use a phone?"

"Of course."

* * *

Frank walked into the department kitchen to the sounds of Janey popping her bubblegum and scribbling what looked like an address on a pink post-it note. Frank ignored her girly giggle, it was a refreshing change from the usual gruffness he dealt with during the day, and searched for the milk. For some reason Carl was always pushing the milk to the back of the fridge and anyone who wanted to use it in cereal had to reach past a forest of vegetables. They weren't even the good kind of vegetables.

"Okay. I'll tell him." Janey hung up the phone and walked over to her boss while proffering the note hanging from her finger. "Shawn wants us to move out."

Frank nearly choked on his milk. His wife was always saying he needed to stop drinking out of the carton. "Shawn? What's he want?" The fire chief asked curiously as he thought about the crazy kid that had spent a month hanging out with his men before moving on.

As if anyone could forget the kid. Frank still wasn't sure how he managed to get the new firetruck nick-named the Shawn Mobile.

Janey shrugged on her jacket. "Not sure. Apparently we need to pick up a Father Rogers before we go though. You want me to call the boys off of reserve duty?"

Frank held the slip of paper with their destination while he mentally plotted out the best route. "Yeah. Do that."

The Cook County Volunteer Fire Department was moving out. And they would be there before the fire started, for once.

* * *

Keith Rogers woke in a sweat. With a groan he kicked off his covers and moved across the room to slap the thermometer that if he wasn't a priest he'd swear was possessed. The thing had made it's sole purpose to annoy him.

*Brrriiiiiiiing!*

His cell phone chimed cheerily from the bathroom where it waited by his keys. He wiped his face down with a hand towel as he checked the id, and answered with trepidation. He didn't know the number. He prayed it wasn't a telemarketer.

If it WAS a telemarketer, they'd soon feel the wrath of an angry priest. For truth.

"Mr. Rogers, how may I help you?" He spoke into the phone. He was pleasantly surprised to find it was not a telemarketer, but instead a voice he hadn't heard in five years. "Spencer! How ARE you?"

Like he would forget the kid that had demolished Father Calahan's record during the church paint ball tournament and put the pompous man down twenty pegs. Besides, there had just been something about Shawn that attracted people to him. He walked into a room and people had gravitated subconsciously toward him waiting at attention. Charisma was one powerful spiritual gift, and Shawn Spencer had it in spades. Keith was sure that if he had been so inclined Shawn could have led the next evangelical movement and turned the bible belt into the bible nation.

"Really? You're sure... of course I don't mind. I go where I'm needed." Keith nodded out of habit despite knowing Shawn couldn't see him though the phone. "Actually, we just got a large donation of canned pineapple last week, it was a bit strange... thats... okay. I can do that."

Keith closed the phone, perturbed, and began stripping off his soaked pajamas. Duty called.

* * *

Clara hung up the phone with an unholy grin and took measured steps toward the basement. The rushed words echoed in her mind. Pastor Murphy would be avenged.

She trudged down the steps and flicked on the switch that illuminated the weapons racks. Hunters were mobilizing, omens were skyrocketing, and one rumor said that the angels were fighting with them. She pulled her shotgun from under her mattress and began loading it with salt shells.

"Fuck yeah."

* * *

Ellen stared at the phone for what felt like hours. Her daughter was surrounded by plastic, pale and seemingly lifeless but actually alive, and Bobby wasn't answering his phone. It was the third time she'd called in an hour and still no answer. She hoped he hadn't been killed, and because she was apparently in a Southern California church she decided to send up a prayer as well.

It wasn't like it was going to make matters any worse.

Not to mention she was pretty damned positive she witnessed one of St. Thomas' nuns garrote a demon with her rosary from her vantage point by the window. Add that to the iron fixtures and various religious symbols hidden behind paintings and decorative curtains Ellen was as safe as she could expect. Complimentary coffee trays were set up in every hallway along with packets of sugar, cream, and _salt._

No matter what else they might have claimed to be, the clergy here were hunters hiding in plain sight.

Frustrated, Ellen hit redial and grit her teeth while popping another pain med. The other end of the line finally picked up. "Bobby! Bobby Singer you-"

"Ellen? Holy fuck... is this EVP? Hey Sam!"

It took every once of self control she had not to hit something. "Dean Winchester you calm down and listen to me." She could hear the phone being shuffled between hands until someone yelped after being struck and Bobby Singer's gruff voice came over the line.

"Ellen."

"Bobby."

"It's good to hear your voice, mind explaining why you ain't a smear of bits on a wall? And why it's taken you this long to call?" The anger was drowned out by relief.

"I just woke up, sorry." Ellen leaned back in her chair as her eyes drifted back over to Jo. "Apparently we got beamed straight to a church-come-hospital after I detonated the bomb. Been in a coma since. Jo, she's... she's still out of it. But she's alive. And they think she'll wake up in a few days."

"You got 'beamed out', where are you, exactly?" Bobby's voice sounded a little off but she figure out why. Ellen decided it was the whole 'back from the dead' thing. The Harvelle matriarch rubbed her forehead and wondered if that made her an honorary Winchester.

"Saint Thomas of the Apostles, in Santa Barbara California." There was what sounded vaguely like a choking sound on the other end of the line. Ellen frowned. "What's been going on?"

Bobby sighed. On the bed, behind her oxygen rich environment, Jo twitched. Ellen absently increased morphine allotment. The mother shook her head in sad bemusement as the situation was explained to her.

The next battle would be for all the marbles.

END.


	31. Matchmaker Blues

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crack-Fic**

**A/N- Apologies for the delay. Unless I get hit by an Act of Shawn, this story will be finished by the end of the month. So, here's a little bit that I had suffered through, taking place after the final battle. CastielXIllyria is now my fav crack pairing. Anyone want to do a photo-manip for me?**

**Part Thirty One- Matchmaker Blues**

The first date was the most difficult. Of all things he never would have thought his Father would take an interest in such matters, but considering the duties of the cupids it wasn't too surprising. Castiel was still new to emotion, still handling each new experience like a rabid animal to be kept at arms length for fear of being overwhelmed, but things were progressing. He did not wish to disappoint his Father, and he didn't want to disappoint his betrothed. Not that she was entirely aware of the situation during their first encounter. Dean had given some rather appropriate advice.

_Find out what she likes to do, take her someplace nice._

Castiel spent two weeks scanning space-time stream searching for a pocket where their activities would not harm the dictated progression of events. Then he spent another three days gathering the courage to do what needed to be done. At least she wasn't like Chastity. She was an Old One, the very first of His children, and he was of the youngest. Had they been human the age gap alone... Dipping into the memories left behind by his host Castiel identified the subtle quaking in his body center as nervous anticipation. He wrapped his grace into a tight bundle and shifted through realities until he stepped onto the cool carpet with a rustle of wing beats.

She turned slowly, every action taken with the utmost control, and her ice blue eyes flared in surprise as she took in his human appearance before peering past his vessel's form to see his true self. "You are yet young, but your power belies that. Why have you come, Host?" Her head tilted marginally as if by physically changing her perspective all answers would become hers. Once that may have been the case. Castiel had not yet been in existence when she ruled but all knew the legends.

He took comfort in their similar natures, and gazed around the dark room with its various boxes holding the sparse possessions of her shell. "Your vessel was ill-chosen." The angel gazed into her essence and was relieved to see the faint spark of soul. Winifred Burkle.

She blinked. "The shell was not my choice, it serves as well as can be expected." She waited. Infinitely patient and powerful. Old One. Castiel stepped forward and held out his hand. Her shell, and it was a shell and not any kind of proper vessel, was incapable of traversing dimensions with the ease the God-King had once wielded.

"Shall we lay waste?"

Her gaze was old, considering, and Castiel felt like he was standing at attention as Anna barked out orders. The blue tinted woman grasped his hand and stepped up to stare into his eyes. It was to be their first date, one hurdle out of the way.

The Persian army wouldn't last long.

* * *

"These are not monsters." The Old One stated in monotone, though he could feel the disappointment in her shell. She sat perched delicately in her seat, wearing the form of the brown haired human woman in a soft blue sundress, and a box of nachos in her lap. Her eyes did not shift from their focus in the center of the area. "Though they are loud and grating."

A monster truck roared out onto the dirt floor and turned around, its massive wheels spinning, and Castiel gave a nod in silent agreement. Why had they come here again? Dean. Dean and his suggestion that a woman who lived for battle would enjoy the mindless destruction of the rally.

Castiel supposed he should have specified that it was a God-King that had not been around for man's rise that enjoyed battle and would likely enjoy bloodshed more. A no-hold-barred wrestling tournament may have been better.

The angel self-consciously tugged at his coat. Absently, he began to snack on the popcorn they'd purchased. Neither of them particularly enjoyed the food but it seemed like the thing to do. They were blending, undercover, and any attention on them would draw both their Father's ire and of Illyria's guide. She did not wish that; emotions were even newer to the Old One than Castiel. Such things had not yet been incorporated into her being when she ruled.

Watching her observe the destruction, and there was a loud cheer from the crowd, Castiel frowned. Her guide was not performing his duties. That much was clear. Perhaps this was the reason he had been sent to her? His gaze traveled to the swiftly cooling meat and cheese covered chips in her lap. The cheese had began to resemble warm plastic. "You purchased the chips."

Unnaturally cold brown eyes turned away from the trucks racing and crushing around the area. "Their scent is pleasing to me." There was a millisecond of uncertainty in her gaze before it was swallowed up by power and self-assurance. "That is all."

Castiel nodded and as the crowd around them gave a particularly excited cheer he took the opportunity to dump what little was left of the popcorn to the ground. She continued to watch him, that glacier composure melted, and suddenly it was as if the spark of soul within her had taken over. She wrapped herself around his arm and leaned into his side. When she spoke her voice was laced with a Texas twang. "There is something appealing about this ritualized destruction, though they not be true monsters."

The two brunettes sat in comfort, basking in the eddies of their mutual power, and the noise level dimmed somewhat as Castiel shaped the energies around them. "I had hoped you would like it."

"Next time, can we go someplace quieter? And hear the Song?"

"As you wish."

* * *

The third date involved neither bloodshed nor destruction. Her vessel was incapable of channeling the necessary energies to tunnel through dimensions ever since man's science had siphoned them away. Castiel did it for the both of them. They sat on a crystalline precipice overseeing a frothy lavender sea. Creatures never before seen by mortal eyes swarmed in the waters beneath them as Illyria broke her meal into pieces and let it fall into the lilac abyss. "The shell was inordinately fond of these." She unwrapped another of the Tacos and began dissecting it slowly as if fascinated.

Castiel retrieved a burger from his own bag of foodstuffs he'd acquired before bringing them to this small planet in another reality. The smell of the still-warm beef and ketchup brought a murmur of want from the remaining echos of Jimmy, now nothing more than a shadow of a presence since the angel's first death by fratricide, and he bit into the double cheeseburger with relish. The twin moons above them continued glowing down on them as they contemplated their existence. The Old One finished her analysis of the now scattered ingredients and tilted her head in thought as she watched her companion finish off the sandwich. "We do not require such a primitive sustenance. Why do you partake?"

"My vessel was exceptionally obsessed with these. I have found there is some pleasure gained in following the baser impulses." Castiel explained. "Also, I have witnessed my charge-" at her look of confusion in those blue within blue eyes he rephrased his words. "I have witnessed my guide derive great enjoyment from burgers and pastries."

Illyria nodded and sweep the mutilated Taco over the cliff and to the teeming creatures. She plucked another from the bag and unwrapped it, holding it in curiosity as red spicy juices leaked between her fingers. "I feel... fragments, sparks, of the Shell. I had thought to explore those feelings, the feelings our Father possesses and made into them, but my guide was unwilling." She bit into the taco and Castiel smiled at the surprised pleasure skittering across her blue tinted features.

She was an Old One, of the First Generation born without remorse. There had been nothing in the time-before-time, for time was a human concept, but the Will of the Father. His children served and worshipped as they devised appropriate fighting for the favored position. Then a small section of Creation was set aside; Paradise. For every paradise there had to be something to represent its opposite, the place that served as its measure and definition, the punishment for disobedience.

Watching her methodically work her way through the taco Castiel found it a simple matter to equate his diminished elder sister for God's Chosen King, the God-King, the Shaper-of-Things who had existed across multiple dimensions and realities at once and had molded the worlds into the unforgiving places they needed to be for when Adam and Eve broke with their creators will. He could see her many limbed form tearing into the earth and creating inhospitable caverns. He could see her directing armies of nightmares as they gave birth to creatures that would one day become legends.

But that was long ago, before her own court and brothers rose against her and locked her within a single realm, deep within the earth she helped to shape, and yet even now she remained a formidable if weakened warrior.

"This is not unpleasant." She licked the juice off of her fingers and came to crouch beside him, her reddish leather armor a contrast to his gray. "Perhaps, we shall explore the other pleasures associated with these shapes?"

There it was. The forwardness reminiscent of the Chastity Incident. Though he did not feel nearly as nervous as he had with the mortal woman when she leaned closer to him, eyes reflecting the light of the moons. What would Dean do? "I am not experienced in these matters, though I know of the basic premise." His head tilted to match the angle of hers. "Might we explore together?"

In response she tipped forward, cool lips warming against his as ancient power poured forth from her into him. Castiel swallowed it down, marveling at the knowledge and sheer certainty of her purpose carried within it, and pushed back. She swallowed him up, his experience and Faith, and molded her form closer to his own as they engaged in a sacred rite long forgotten by any of his generation.

* * *

Angel practically jumped out of his skin when Illyria dropped from the sky. She landed with a hard thud, and yet the ground did not crack from the force of it. He would think more about that blatant disregard for physics after they dealt with the forces of Wolfram and Hart. Rain was pouring in buckets. The perfect setting for a last stand. "Illyria?"

Her head tilted to the side. "I killed all mine." She paused. "Wesley is dead. As is his opponent."

Angel was surprised by the regret in her voice but before he could think much on it there was a shout and when he peered with vampire enhanced sight he could see Gunn heading toward them. He raised his axe in triumph, but also pain. He was injured. Heavily. Angel expected it: one mortal against a whole office full of vampires? It had taken over half a dozen potentials to kill one, or so he heard.

Illyria opened her mouth to say something, probably demeaning, but froze and looked upward. Worried, Angel glanced into the darkened sky and saw nothing though he could hear the ground shaking footfalls of an approaching army. "Illyria, this is not the time to get introspective!"

She simply continued to watch the skies. "He is coming."

Spike stiffened beside the wall. "Who's coming, Blue?"

She smiled then, but it was not kind. It promised pain and retribution. "My betrothed." Before Angel could get over the sudden chill that had nothing to do with his lack of pulse or the onslaught of rain, she continued. "And he has brought his own army."

"Uh, Blue. This beau of yours, he's gonna help. Right?" Spike asked as he began shifting his gaze between the injured Gunn, the alleyway entrance, and the sky. "He's not gonna be upset that you're ah...?"

The look Illyria gave him was puzzled. "I am allied with you. He is allied with me. These bonds go beyond power and position. We are... family." As her last word was swallowed up in the patter of rain on concrete Angel could just make out the invading army. They had giants and dragons. Shit.

Well, he had always wanted to slay a dragon. Might was well go out with a bang. The vampire raised his sword and prepared to meet the enemy.

He was not prepared for the sudden rush in raw power that sent goosebumps along his undead flesh nor the deafening rustle of what sounded like a thousand birds.

They were not alone in the alley.

All around them wearing light armor were men and women. All with blue eyes, some darker and some light, but all carried that assurance and power he'd come to associate with the Old One that had fallen into their laps. Instinctively Angel knew he wouldn't last five minutes against them. If he was lucky, he would last one.

"Eldest." A male strode forth from the throng. "Illyria, my betrothed. Your enemies are our enemies. Your allies our allies. We stand with you, to the last." The two then embraced. Illyria came away with a silver, gleaming sword in her hands.

"They killed Wesley."

"Muriel shall take care of it." A woman with blonde, red-streaked hair vanished. The man in the gray armor and the leather duster placed his hand by Gunn's cheek, to the man's confusion, and light burst forth. "Shall we?"

When the former lawyer blinked and touched his newly healed wound, Angel suddenly felt a lot better about everything.

END.


	32. From the File Room

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crack-Fic**

**Chapter Thirty Two - From the File Room**

_Report #A309_

_Furling History and Civilization_

_Dr. Daniel Jackson -SGC-_

Sources: Iofiel (Furling), Castiel (Furling), Thor (Asgard), Selmak (Tok'ra).

Furlings are a highly evolved society recently coming out of an internal dispute. This is interesting to note as they were part of the Great Alliance (See Report A127) consisting of the Ancients, Nox, Asgard, and Furling races. Due to their physical manifestations (See Report S577) and certain other factors it is my belief that Furlings are in fact the origin for angel mythology of the Judeo-Christian mythology. Due to an internal theological dispute, which culminated into a civil war, until recently the Furling Council had not sanctioned visitations to Earth in two thousand years. This fits amazingly well with some Judeo-Christian timelines (See attachments).

Like the Asgard, Furling society is primarily militaristic though run through a theocracy. Every member is knowledgeable in their form of hand-to-hand combat which incorporates all six limbs, this includes their wings which are lethal in and of themselves.

Every member of the society has what they consider their sacred duty, purpose, reason-for-being, what we would most commonly refer to as a profession. This includes everything from military training to human, that is furling, resources in the case of Sekel who's sole duty is to maintain harmony in her community by keeping communication lines open and acting as mediator should personal issues arise to disturb the peace. Such a system bares no little resemblance to caste systems found in earth history and still in existence today in India and other eastern countries...

...it is little wonder that in a culture where religion features so heavily that when leaders are contested the conflict is long and bloody. A taboo subject difficult to brooch, observations and conjectures have been collected (See attachments and Mission Report P3X-595D).

The Great Alliance came into jeopardy as philosophies between the Ancients and the Furlings came to a head. Ancients, or the Gatebuilders, valued science highly and considered religious beliefs a sign and holdover from backwards, undeveloped cultures. Furlings, as previously stated, consider it the backbone of their society. While officially agreeing to disagree once the Furlings left the Alliance things soon degenerated between the other three...

While their central figurehead and god is currently missing, this does not appear to concern the majority of Furlings. He does this frequently and is known for going up to two thousand years in between appearances...

It is unknown what the future may bring, should this god of theirs return, but it is my firm belief that relations with the Furlings be continued. They are an honorable race, and consider it almost a familial duty to assist humanity, their younger siblings, in our struggle against such forces as the Goa'uld and Anubis.

_Report #S577_

_Furling Anatomy and Abilities_

_Mjr. Samantha Carter -SGC-_

_Subjects: Castiel (Furling Commander, Male) and Iofiel (Unknown, Female) _

First it must be noted that Furlings are very much like the ascended beings we have encountered in the past. (See Reports S231 and M833). Unlike the ascended, however, they seem to possess the ability to shift between incorporeal and substantial forms at will. In their energy state they are able to cover large distances by shifting between planes of existence. It is possible for them to piggy-back with other life forms, but the greater the distance the harder it is to do without consequences. (See Figure 3.2)

Aside from traveling, Furlings are capable of sustaining, for limited periods of time, a semi-substancial state in which they can channel their energy into attacks. These include but are not limited to electrical, fire, and air manipulations (Figure 3.4). Instruments have difficulties picking up Furling presence when in their energy state, but visual recordings have recorded this form to gain several more limbs not unlike the ascended ancients squid form...

...When shifted into the physical plane Furlings greatly resemble humans with the exception of two large bird-like wings that resemble those of various earth avians. (Figure 2.1) Possessing increased strength and speed, Furlings are fully trained in utilizing their extra appendages to best effect. Their feathers can achieve diamond like hardness with razor sharp edges. This has multiple applications both in battle and as tools...

_Report #763_

_Furlings - Angel Looking Guys_

_J. O'Neill_

Nice guys. Like fishing. Kick Gao'uld ass. Recommend sending them a fruit basket and copy of Star Wars. Seems to be popular among aliens.

_Report #765_

_Santa Clause_

_J. O'Neill_

Teal'c just got a functioning blue light saber from Cas. Mine's green. Carter's spent the past five hours trying to take her purple one apart. Daniel disagrees but I think we just found the origin of the Santa Clause myth. His light saber is gold.

Requesting permission to host a movie night off base with Furlings in attendance.

END.


	33. Final Countdown

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**Part Thirty Three - Final Countdown**

"Come _On_, Gus. Step on it! Pedal to the metal! Where's that lead foot that I know you secretly indulge on drag racing Tuesdays?" Shawn crooned as he fidgeted in his seat, hands on the armrests, staring with wide sincere eyes at his best friend. Gus did not look away from the road. It was pretty much expected: Shawn's puppy-dog eyes never worked on Henry either.

"This is a Company Car, Shawn. I shouldn't even be taking it out of State! I am not going to risk speeding and dying in a painful, fiery explosion just so we can get to another likely painful, fiery death faster!" Gus' hands were gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles were white. Shawn could see the bones pressed against the skin and felt a tiny flicker of remorse. It then evaporated on a rush of inspiration.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. That's my job! Anyway. I promise, _promise_ we won't get pulled over. In fact, I guarantee the roads will be Bear free until we hit the county line... after that there my be flying pigs and little old ladies selling magic beans." Shawn replied with a smile as he reached into the back seat for the third passenger of their vehicle. "Besides, if we don't hurry Lassiter will beat us!"

Gus risked a glance away from the black-top. "So you did call in the Chief." His eyes narrowed. "Where did that cat come from?"

The cat was unceremoniously dropped into his lap by Shawn, where it started purring soothingly.

"Shouldn't you know?" Shawn looked in askance at his friend. "It's your cat, Mrs. Pickles."

"...WHAT?"

The detective ignored the outburst and the brief foray into the oncoming traffic lane. "Besides, if we rode with Lassie and Jules they wouldn't have let me play the mix tapes I made!" So saying, Shawn pulled from his back pockets several 8-track tapes with a grin.

"I have a CD player, Shawn." Gus said in dead-pan.

Shawn's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Are you sure about that, old buddy?" He slid the tape into what only minutes ago Gus could have sworn was a six disc CD player.

* * *

On an average day a Fire-truck rolling through the neighborhood would have attracted quite a bit of attention. The sky was overcast threatening rain, clouds dark and gray, and most of the residents were staying inside to avoid the coming down pour. It had been like that several hours now, and Frank was beginning to think it was some kind of Providence.

"I guess this is us." He called to the driver as they parked before a one story. There was a man in a long black coat sitting on a cardboard box with a sign reading 'Detroit or Bust'.

The fire chief hopped off the truck and approached the man wary for any sign of duplicity. There'd been whispers of black-eyed freaks running around, and with Shawn's call he felt inclined to believe it. "Father Rogers?"

"Please." The man said as he stood and stretched. "Call me Keith. I hear we have an apocalypse to avert?"

"Something like that." Frank replied and helped load the cans of pineapple juice onto the firetruck. There wasn't a lot of room so they made Carl, the youngest, sit on it.

"This is soooo cool." The darkly complected man whispered reverently as he watched the priest mutter over the water tanks. "It's like we're in an episode of Buffy!"

"Hey now," Dominic called from where he stood holding onto a handrail. "Talking like that you'll jinx us and we'll have to fight vampires too."

* * *

Always an animal lover, Mrs. Pickles presence was a comfort. If he just didn't think about the fact that they were rushing to their doom, and that the cat in his lap shouldn't even exist, or that there was no way for Shawn to have had the time to get his music system changed out, he could make it through the drive. Trees were blurring past them, and fields, and Gus didn't know why the speedometer said they were going sixty when it felt and looked more like one-ten. Not that he would ever admit to Tuesday nights at the race-track. His parents would kill him.

But sometimes, sometimes, a Guster had to draw the line. "No, Shawn. We are not listening to anymore of your mix tapes."

"Why not?"

"Because they are freaking me out!" He hissed. "Stairway to Heaven, Hell's Bells, Pepper... they're all about death! Play something happy or don't play anything at all!"

"...fine Grumpy McGrumpypants." Shawn pouted as he ejected the tape, reached under his seat, and placed a new one in.

Gus relaxed with a smile. Cyndi Lauper kicked so much ass.

_"...Come home, in the morning light, my Mother says: When you gonna live your life right? Oh mommy dear, we're not the fortunate ones. And girls they want to have fun..."_

Mrs. Pickles' calico tail bobbed up and down in time with the music.

* * *

Ellen closed her eyes just in time to receive a glass of holy water to the face. She blinked rapidly and flicked some of the excess water away, and frowned. "You're walk'n, Bobby."

The grizzled hunter nodded with a slight smile and handed her a dishtowel. "You're alive." He stepped to the side allowing the Harvelle matriarch to enter the motel room. She was immediately caught up in a massive pair of arms. "Nice to see you too, Sam."

Tears shined in the boys eyes, and it warmed her heart, but they didn't fall as the boy, man really, took a breath to steady himself and stepped back allowing Ellen to really look around the room. It was more than just Bobby and the Winchesters. She recognized two hunters that used to frequent the Roadhouse before the explosion, and a brother-sister team that she vaguely remembered Pastor Murphy mentioning.

She was willing to bet that more than half the rooms of the motel were taken by hunters. They really were popping out of the wood-work for this.

"Where's Jo?" Dean's rusty voice asked. Emotion swam in his eyes but he was far too much of a man to admit it.

Ellen shook her head. "Healing. I wasn't about to let her come to the throw down when she care barely walk without wincing." The old hunter cracked a smile. "Gave the poor nun a black eye until the morphine kicked in... speaking of..."

All the attention focused on her. Even the couple at the little table packing salt rounds.

"I brought them with me."

"Them?" Joshua, one of her old regulars, asked as a hand subconsciously reached for his gun. Man always was a jumpy sort.

"The fine folks at St. Thomas of the Apostles, nuns and monks. Church Militant. They got flame throwers and grenade launchers."

The grins that cracked around the room could have been described as unholy.

* * *

Shawn's eyes popped and the Twizzler in his mouth fell out as he was hit with a sudden brainstorm. If his seatbelt wasn't restraining him he would have been jumping up and down like one of those useless yap-yap dogs that stand barely half a foot high. "Gus! Gus! Quick, turn around, we need to pick up the worlds largest ball of twine!"

"No, we're running late as it is. Besides, we wouldn't be able to fit it on the Echo. If you wanted to play bowling for Lucifers we should have stopped by your dad's for the Truck."

"...I knew I was forgetting something..."

Meanwhile the tape player switched over to The Killers.

_"...It's get'n close to Sundown. Over the se-air-rah, stranded on a heat-wave, burning with desire. She was on a sidewalk, looking for a night-light, we talked about the real things, and drove into the Fire..."_

_

* * *

_

Metal clashed as swords were placed in scabbards and guns holstered. Light modified chain-mail disappeared beneath button-up shirts as the group of fighters suited up. The Templars had fallen to the maneuverings of the Dark One. The Hospitallers had not.

Clara glanced at the ceremonial Knight Armor in display case with a wistful sigh. As ridiculously cool as it would be to charge into battle wearing it she didn't have the raw power to support the heavy armor. Plus it was loud and clanky.

"Hurry, girly. We don't want to be last ones to smite a demon." Her commander called as he slung a silver blessed crucifix necklace around his wrist and headed for one of the hummers that would be transporting their chapter to the battlefield. The Knights of Malta were riding again.

"For God and Country." Clara whispered with excitement as she finished strapping on her steel-toed boots.

* * *

Carlton Lassiter did not enjoy confronting his wife. Mainly because he still loved her. He couldn't not, and he hated meeting with her because she no longer cared for him. Still, his mother had been right, so he went got his wedding ring back.

Juliet looked at him as he handed it to her, her face red and filled with questions as they boarded the helicopter. "Carlton, um, this is..."

He refused to make eye contact. It was too embarrassing. "You wanted to come, you wear the ring. This is not up for debate."

The O'Hara bit her bottom lip and puffed up her chest as she crammed the former wedding ring on her finger, stepping into the helicopter. Her hair tried to escape the ponytail she'd tied it back in. "Tell me exactly what's wrong, Carlton. Why do you really need to use station's 'copter for vacation time? This is something I would expect Shawn to do!"

Lassiter just handed her a box of ammo. "You'll want to switch out what you have." He put on the headset and called into the mike. "ETA?"

"A little more than two hours, sir. As long as we get there before midnight we'll be good."

"Lassiter!"

"O'Hara." Lassiter sighed and turned to his partner. She didn't know anything, she shouldn't have to know anything... but it was her choice to come. She just up and followed after noticing him packing his 'emergency' kit and insisted that if he was going after someone he needed back-up he could trust. He owed it to her. "Whatever happens, do not take off that ring. It will protect against demon possession and some hexes. Here's the situation..."

It was a credit to the younger detective that she didn't argue. She simply sat there, cross necklace gripped in one hand and gun in the other as her eyes focused.

* * *

McNab grinned as he waltzed up to the two angels arguing on the curb. One was female and clad in leather armor cut to show off her legs and arms while the other wore comfortable jeans and a shirt with a jacket. The male was gesturing with a swirly lollipop, nearly getting the sticky candy stuck in the woman's hair. Times like these made McNab wonder why he ever left home. It was priceless.

He cleared his throat noisily.

The short man turned, free hand raised as if to snap, and froze with his mouth open. "M-M-Mi-"

"You are loitering." McNab cut in. Gabe was so darn cute when surprised. Anael was looking at her feet, blushing, dagger in hand. "Shouldn't you two be somewhere?"

"What about you, big bro?" The Archangel of Messages collected himself. "If you already have a vessel, what have you been bothering the Winchesters for?"

"Does this look like a vessel to you?" Buzz asked with a laugh. "I don't need no stink'n vessel... but, yes. We should be going."

There was a moment of utter silence as celestial power hummed around the party. Unity and strength, love, swirled around like a warm wind. Finally, Gabriel sighed and tossed his candy into a trash bin. "Last one to kill a bad guy buys the beer."

* * *

"...Was that a flying pig?"

"...That's what she said."

The blue car was filled with giggles as the friends decided, quite literally, to hell with it, and charged into battle.

End.


	34. Feel Like Fajitas

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crack-Fic**

**A/N- While I attempt to finish up the final battle sequence, enjoy this Episode Tag from 'If You're so Smart, Why Are You Dead?'  
**

**Part Thirty Four - Feel Like Fajitas  
**

Shawn looked at the number snobby student Trebek chalked on the board and leaned back.

Physysics- 6.0021415x10 to the 23rd atoms/mol.

The number tickled the back of his brain, so he recognized it. He knew he should know it. Maybe if he hadn't slept through so many classes in high-school he would remember it. Shawn shot a look to Gus, lovable geek that he was, and received a blank surprised stare in return. Impossible! Gus was a nerd, the nerdiest of nerds who made sure his models were to scale no matter what it was, and yet he didn't even remember what the idiotic line of numerals meant? For shame.

The psychic stepped forward and placed a hand on the brats face with a sigh of disappointment. "Oh! Your negativity is really impeding my psychic ability."

Trebek rolled his eyes and shuffled his feet. "Or your just a big fraud." He was going for low blows. If the Spencer heir had feathers, they would be ruffled. Despite being a fraud, and freely admitting it to his best friend and father, he took great offense when someone went out of their way to disprove him. After all, it wasn't like he was hurting anyone! He did good work! And it was fun.

Shawn felt his eye twitch and he briefly remembered his clients comments about the crows feet. Maybe he should visit that spa his dad had mentioned... "You know what? Go to the principal's office." He'd wanted to say that ever since fifth grade with the pudding cup incident. He pointed to the door in all seriousness.

"Wait a second." Trebek actually looked surprised, like he couldn't comprehend someone not taking his shit.

Shawn had no sympathy. "Get out of here. Go. Go. Go. Get out of here. Get out of here." Cue door slam. Shawn rolled his shoulders and turned back to the class. "None of you should be friends with him." Shawn glanced back at the number as Gus hissed at him and his stomach rumbled.

Right. Hahn. Question Hahn. Shawn gave himself a mental shake and got down to business, and while it was interesting to learn that his apparent shot in the dark actually hit something, it didn't help their case. And he was having trouble concentrating. He found himself turning around and frowning at the stupid number. Good gravy, lunch better get here soon...

"I feel like Mexican. Does anyone know what they're serving for lunch today?" At the blank and somewhat surprised look on his class' collective face at the sudden change in topic, Shawn decided to throw them a bone. He spun and gestured at the board. "It's just, I look at this I think guacamole. Or, no. Not guacamole." He was on a role, he decided to go with it. "But part of it. Green. Tastily. Avocados. Why avocados?"

Gus straightened in his seat as his personal geek light bulb went off. "Avogadro! It's Avogadro's number!"

Shawn clapped his hands. "Thank you, Gus! Could you order us some fajitas?"

End.


	35. Rise Up, All Ye Faithful

**Bouncing Around**

**A Supernatural/Psych Crossover Crack-Fic**

**Dark Archer- Nope, well, kinda. The Knights of Malta as they are portrayed in the fic are fictitious but I based them on an actual Holy Order. Originally they were a branch of Hospitallers, monks that ran monasteries to care for the sick, but during the Crusades they took up the sword and went all medieval on the Saracens. Eventually they were restricted to an island, Malta, until they were forced out... I think due to Napoleon. I'd have to check my notes. Anyway, they are still in existence today and are one of those 'nations without a land'. They have chapters worldwide, and officially don't do the military thing in favor of caring for the sick and poor, but I have my suspicions. **

**Lassiter and Jules are not married. He just gave her the ring from his last wedding to keep her from getting body-jacked.**

**Part Thirty Five- Rise Up, All Ye Faithful**

Dean didn't care that she was wearing all black and a nun's habit. He didn't care that she was old enough to be his not-so-aged-well mother. The second she put the grenade launcher in his hands he wanted to sweep her off her feet and kiss her just like the sailor did to the nurse in the old war poster. Smother her in love and affection until her toes curled and she was shouting for her God.

"Eat it, Hellspawn!" Dean shouted as he squeezed the trigger and ducked down. The blast wasn't as loud as he might have expected, but silver laced shrapnel went flying along with bodies. Demons could survive a lot, they ran around in corpses often enough, but blast off and arm or leg and even they had to stop for a breather.

Sister Prudence had taken cover with him. She was armed with a machete and a revolver. The heavier artillery was too heavy for her to lift but she was still a menace on the battlefield. Her Rosary was clutched in one hand while she recited prayers, eyes burning with passion, and Dean felt that surge of attraction.

He slung the launcher onto his back and peeked over the rust-bucket of a car they had hidden behind. Chaos ruled the field.

Overhead the sky was a mess, nature itself protesting the presence of so many demons, and the ground was strewn with debris and blood. Bodies. Good guys and bad.

"Come child," The nun whispered as she finished her litany. "Cover me."

The nearly sixty year old leapt over the hood of the car and charged, weaving as she slashed out with the freshly blessed blade, and Dean fired shot after shot. Possessed bodies jerked as bullets sought fleshy new homes. Dean ejected the clip when it was spent and slammed a new one home just has his ears picked up the fwoosh of a flamethrower.

He felt like a solider of old charging onto a battlefield. He couldn't stop the mad grin forcing it's way to his lips as he screamed: "Zepplin Rules!"

* * *

Bobby had been fighting a war against the Supernatural for years, ever since his wife was possessed, but never before had it been so literal. Small, quiet skirmishes were the norm in the Hunting business. House-to-house all out battlefield was not. Usually the simply human hunters had time to set up their traps and plan.

Against the sheer numbers against them the usual methods were not possible and Bobby Singer had a sudden deep and heartfelt appreciation for all those that died in the World Wars and all others. Trench warfare was fucking tiring.

But damn if it didn't feel good to be moving, really moving, with the blood pounding in his ears after months of being bound to a chair. Bobby blocked a strike with his arm and knew if the bone hadn't cracked the bruise was going to be a bitch should they survive the night. His opponent snarled, fangs descending and eyes going black with old blood. "Tell me some'thun." He bit out as he fell backward and kicked the vampire off and away while going for the hunting knife hanging from his belt. "Why you bloodsuckers siding with the Devil?"

She clutched at her middle while she straightened, and it was like everything around them had ceased to exist. The explosions were distant, the screams toned down, and the wind stilled. "He promised us." Her red hair danced in the wind like a bloody halo. "He promised we wouldn't have to hide anymore. That we would be his children... and you would be our cattle!" She crouched low as she came at him and Bobby swung out.

Nails gouged painfully into his side even as her head flew from her body.

* * *

Ellen had a small contingent of hunters around her as they pressed forward, or tried to at any rate. The enemy was just too strong in number. And they kept growing. Demons could pop out of one body and find another. It may take them some time to do so, but Ellen feared no matter how impressive their own numbers were they wouldn't make it.

They had to take the chapel, all the omens pointed to the broken down church as the center of Lucifer's power-play, but there were just too damn many fuglies in the way.

Ellen shoot a foot-high Goblin off her boot and turned her flamethrower on it. The creature let out a painful hiss before its body exploded like a piece of meet left in the microwave too long. The woman didn't even have time to wipe the gore from her face as yet another beastie broke through their ranks and came at her, claws reaching for her fuel line.

Castiel appeared with a pop of displaced air, feathers scattering on the smoke-filled wind, and drove a juice coated blade into the creatures head. The wound sizzled like acid and it's four arms flailed before falling limp. "Thanks." She bit out while turning her attention back to the enemy.

* * *

Sam thought he was dead. He had, stupidly, left the group when heard Meg laughing. Taunting him. Now he was armed with a single demon-killing blade and surrounded by way too many black eyed demons being led by one with white eyes. There was no way his group could reach him in time.

"Well if it isn't the Boy Wonder." Unknown White-Eyed Demon hissed. "Boss wants you bad. Orders to keep you safe and sound while we exterminate the pitiful rabble."

It was incredibly disturbing to see a man dressed in a suit shake his hips and walk up as if flirting. Like a woman. He pursed his lips and stroked his chin while giving Sam the once-over. "Gotta say, pops has good taste. Nothing too special in the looks department, but that body... yummy."

A peal of laughter came from the dark eyed peanut gallery and as one they rushed him. Sam struck out, caught a demon in the throat, but went down into what was once a vegetable garden. His face pressed into the dirt as the demon panted in his ear.

Oh. God.

Hands wandered down ward, and Sam wished they would just kill him. Heaven wasn't that bad. A little dull, but not this... the hands left and he could hear what sounded like a siren. "Mitch!" The white eyed demon yelled as the siren grew louder, fast.

Sam struggled where he was pinned. Suddenly, the weight of the demons lifted and was replaced by cold wetness. The demons were screaming in pain as gallons of water under heavy pressure splashed into them.

"Hey! You okay? You ain't screaming like the rest of them!" A man in a yellow fireman's uniform asked from where he was perched atop a water cannon. Sam just nodded mutely and recovered his knife. There was a war on.

* * *

Three Hummers barreled down the road, the contents jingling and bouncing with every bump in the road. They sped into a ghost town with all the urgency those who have no knowledge of speed limits possessed and one plowed into a woman who hadn't seemed to notice the knife sticking out of her back.

Heading for the thick of the fighting, the Hummers decided to go off-roading and thus paved over several ricky fences, a swing set, and a wall of dying bushes. They swerved to a stop at a scene that wouldn't have been out of place of a Dungeons and Dragons movie. "Holy shit!" A passenger squeaked only to receive a rebuke from his superior. "Sorry."

The doors opened and the modern-day crusaders charged onto the field to relieve the Hunters. Dying grass crunched beneath booted feet as they roared challenge, armor all but glowing with faith as they screamed their battle-cry. "GOD WILLS IT!"

A smaller number of them paused to find shelter, sniper-rifles slung over their shoulders.

* * *

Dean growled as he watched a young hunter go down, neck snapped. He ignored the blood pouring from his leg own as he rushed to the boys side to drag him to a somewhat safer area. Demons to the left, Goblins to the right, Harpies above... and wasn't it a shame that the face couldn't match the body on those creatures?

Dean launched a grenade at the troop of streak-knife wielding goblins and listened in sick satisfaction as they squealed and died, clearing a path to an old shed where he could drop the kid. He was so young... he didn't deserve to be devoured like carrion. Later, he would have a real Hunters funeral. Beers and a burning. The right way.

Dean didn't even know his name. His parents were probably out fighting, might be already dead.

"Dean!" A female voice shouted. "Dean!"

Hazel eyes snapped up and widened at the appearance of a woman he could have sworn was dead. Burned to cinders by an Archangel.

She looked amazing in that Xena-esque outfit. The question remained, where did she come from and was she still trying to kill his brother? "Anna."

Her eyes sparkled. Dean looked, but he couldn't see any of the despair that haunted them the last time they met. That had always haunted them. She smiled and the blood flecking her cheek only made her more gorgeous. "Come on, we need to help hold them off. And YOU need to stop Sam!"

"Sam, what is he... he's not going to say yes is he?" Dean yelled, breath coming in ragged breaths as blood loss began to get to him.

"I don't know." Anna said with a shake of her head. "But we need to keep him away from Lucifer, at least until..."

"Until what?" The Eldest Winchester was already firmly in big brother mode as he reloaded his shotgun, pistol, and the Colt. He wished he still had more grenades.

As he ran shouting for Sam, pulling aside those still fighting, he got only confused shakes of the head.

* * *

Clara blinked in confusion as she dueled a pair of... things. They had horns. That was just about as far as she was willing to go in describing them without her brain melting. Her short sword cleaved into the arm of one as the other tried to ham string her. Tried being the operative word. It wasn't expecting the chain-mail resistance.

One would think that the demons and other assorted beasties would move on with the times, but luckily for them, that is the humans, monsters were so busy reveling in their magic powers and raw strength they rarely thought about picking up a gun. Blades, however, had been around far longer than ammunitions.

Blessed blade met cursed in a shower of sparks and Clara grunted with the effort to push back the creature. It screeched at her, acid like spittle stinging her cheeks, and she backpedaled with eyes wide in shock as a man in a fedora materialized behind the monster with whom she'd locked blades. Indiana Jones wrapped his bullwhip around what passed for the creatures wrist, jerked it around, and promptly shot it in the head causing sparks to fly from the eyes.

The scent of cotton-candy filled her nose as she whirled to face the now dead creatures partner. It was already dying what with it's stomach plug laying on the ground two feet away from the rest of the body, and a white guy was doing a Bruce Lee impression as he faced a herd of Kelpies.

It was official. Best. Apocalypse. Ever.

* * *

Shawn was panting as he ran, jumping over pools of blood, gore, and the occasional bit of wreckage. He mentally scoffed at his out-of-shapeness. Sure he could wish the fatigue away but then what would be the point? What would be the point of any of it?

He almost stumbled over his own feet as what had to be a thousand feather-light touches brushed against his mind. Lost children. That's all they were, really, kids trying to make sense of crazy world. But the world didn't make sense, it wasn't supposed to, because if it did where would the fun be? The challenge?

Shawn looked back at his best friend. Gus was right there with him, actually breathing easier as he went to the gym three times a week, freaked out but still there. "Okay, Buddy, here's the plan." They stopped for a break at the house across from the church. Walls were crumbling around them, realities were blending from the concentrated forces, but now was not the time to worry about such things. He could fix it. He would fix it.

No one played in his sandbox but HIM.

"This isn't one those plans where you go in and talk the bad-guy into surrender, is it? I hate those!" Gus hissed with the back of his head pressed against the wall. "Oh, it is! Isn't it!"

Shawn smiled. "Don't worry. It'll work. But I need you to buy me time. You have to keep the demons and other bad guys from coming to help Lucius out while I'm facing him. He's invested so much in them, turned them into rechargeable batteries." The sound of a helicopters blades became audible over the din of battle. "Make sure Lassie knows. I'm counting on you."

Shawn slapped Gus on the back and sprinted across the street while giving one last mental order: _Hold the Line._

He knew, but didn't see, Buzz McNab salute after ripping the arms off a low-level demon.

* * *

Gus ran around, blood pumping, adrenaline flowing, and tried to think of something to do. The human fighters were being pushed back. The demons were making a circle, a circle of sacrifice his pessimistic side sneered, and he could not allow that. The Devil did not need the extra help. He had to find a way to distract them...

A strangled scream escaped his throat as Mrs. Pickles started twining about his ankles. The calico wasn't alone. Little Boy Cat and another were with her. Gus felt his heart skip a beat and forced himself to breath while dodging a stray bullet. He had gotten surprisingly good at avoiding projectiles ever since joining with Shawn in Psych.

It didn't matter that Chairman Meow had evidently come back from the dead. Wasn't that one of the signs of revelation? The dead would walk? Somehow, Gus did think Father Anderson ever meant cats... but he had an idea. It was so ridiculous, Shawn might have approved. Well, his best friend was busy getting himself killed, Burton Guster might as well do the same.

* * *

Through some miracle of happenstance they had taken the street with the church, but now they had to deal with the seemingly impossible task of holding it. Magic was so thick in the air it was like invisible pea soup and Ellen had no clue how they were going to survive the night. She'd run out of ammo minutes ago and had barely a forth a tank left in her flamethrower. She hadn't seen Castiel since he exploded in a shower of light taking several monsters with him.

All that had been left were crispy corpses standing in shock.

A bullet whizzed past her ear, but she'd grown used to the chaos of the melee. There was a former bit of shirt turned impromptu bandage on her upper arm standing testament to a bad run in with friendly fire. For a few minutes it had felt like War was running around again, but he couldn't be... Dean had the Ring.

And Dean had the Colt. Close saves were evidently the rule of the day. "Ellen, have you seen Sammy?" The boy looked like he had been run ragged, but then again they all did.

"I think so. Broke cover and ran down the street. Thought he was going after you."

"Me?" Dean's eyes were filled with fear. "Fuck. Don't tell me they got shapeshifters too..."

Ellen didn't have time to reply. She was busy turning her fire on the swarm of blood pixies that had just burst from a bush. Their tiny bodies fell flaming even as they reached out with poisoned claws and mesmerizing voices.

* * *

Anything that came close to the fire-hydrant received an axe to the face. Or neck. Or whatever was handy, really. Frank wasn't picky but when the man with the sharp pointy fangs shrugged off the gaping wound in his chest the fire chief grew worried. The thing was fast and though Frank had long since shrugged off his heavy protective coat he couldn't quite match the speed.

They were being mobbed, and the holy water that Keith was constantly making had no effect. Not demons, then.

Someone popped one of the cans of fruit and hurled it. Sticky liquid and pineapple bits went everywhere and when it landed on one of the monsters it glowed white-hot causing them to scream and try to brush it off. The screams were silenced as swords and machetes cut through undead necks.

"Dammit Carl!" Frank shouted as he realized just what those monsters had been. Their cavalry was a mixture of Hunter and Knight. He could see metal glinting from beneath cut up loose shirts. "I told you not to jinx us!"

* * *

Lassiter laid down covering fire as the helicopter came in low. Head shots were preferable, and luckily the few monsters capable of flight couldn't stand the wind generated by the propellers, but it would still be touch and go. He and O'Hara would have to jump.

They did. Juliet rolled along the battlefield like a professional, as if she'd been jumping out of moving vehicles all her life, and came up gun in hand and ready to fire. She didn't risk shooting any human-looking opponents for fear of taking out a 'good-guy' but the monsters were hammered back by her barrage.

"Carlton!" She yelled over the sounds of fighting, nearly tripping over a still twitching grey-tinged arm. "To your right!"

Lassiter turned, throwing knife leaving his hand to dig into the chest of deformed woman, and his mind boggled. Burton Guster, sidekick of the most annoying person he knew, was standing climbing atop a car. The idiot was going to get himself killed.

"THUNDERCATS!" The black man yelled, his voice echoing impossibly across the neighborhood turned war zone, "HOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Behind him, the sky opened up, and Lassiter resisted the urge to face palm as the cries of what could have been a hundred felines rallied.

* * *

Sam was frozen. Lucifer's power was more than an ocean, it was an entire universe, and beside him Sam was like a single celled ameba. What had ever made him think that even with a boost of demon blood he could match the Lightbringer himself? "Won't be long now, Sammy." Satan's vessel looked a bit like it had contracted leprosy. It was burning from the inside out unable to properly channel the power and bits of skin had decayed and fallen off. When he spoke it only emphasized chapped, dry lips. "Can you hear it? All your friends, all my children, fighting and dying... for me. All that power, all those sacrifices... going straight to me."

He smiled, lips cracking, eyes burning, and Sam's heart skipped a beat. "You planned this."

"Told ya it would all go down in Detroit." Lucifer rolled his shoulder. "Well, we aren't exactly in Detroit, Detroit, but why quibble over county lines and ever shifting borders? I'm going to Ascend! And you'll be my vessel, and we will remake the world into a brighter, better place. It's all so magical."

"Sorry, Jasmine. Can't let you do that. I called dibs ages ago." Sam recognized the voice that spoke and would have jumped in surprise if he wasn't bound by Lucifers power. Shawn Spencer, the guy Cas had insisted was God, dropped down from a broken window and dusted himself off. He walked over with his hands in his pockets and a curious expression on his face. "But if you like, you can fix up the down under and turn it into a new Disney Land. Hell Edition."

Lucifer looked shocked, and if Sam wasn't mistaken there was longing in those cold eyes. They softened as they focused on the younger man. "Father."

"Lucy... Sammael." Shawn's voice had lowered into a whisper. "What are you doing?"

"I'm making things better." Lucifer stepped closer to God, and Sam inwardly screamed as he continued to be an unwilling observer. "These humans, they don't deserve you. They don't."

Shawn didn't reply. He didn't move as a hand came up to trace his face, thumb rubbing against a cheek bone. "I remember how it was." The Devil continued, his voice smooth and musical like some kind of otherworldly salesman. "You always loved making things, Father. You're so good at it."

"You liked breaking things. Nemesis was never the same after you turned it into an asteroid belt." Shawn quipped with half-smile. Lucifer stepped back, eyes flashing, before his calmed himself and shook his head.

"I was young. I... I didn't understand. But now I do. I understand this, and I understand you." Lucifer turned to Sam then and gestured. Against his will the youngest Winchester was brought forward. "He'll say yes, you know, eventually he will say yes just to end the pain. To be swept away in my power. Let's not fight, Father. I'll take care of Earth. Once I have brought humanity to heel they will worship and adore you as they should. I will see to it that the suffering stops, and you... you can Create to your heart's content."

It was like a warm wind had blown through the chapel. Lucifer was standing right beside Shawn, who's eyes had gone a little glassy during the speech, and his arm was wrapped around the shorter man's shoulders. "Please, Father. I'll take care of everything. You need not worry. Need not concern yourself with such mundane things... go. I'm strong, I've been growing stronger. No one will bother you, no one will hurt, everything shall be... perfect."

Shawn shook himself, head tilted, and smiled wistfully. "And therein lies the rug."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing is perfect, Sammy." Neither Sam or Lucifer were sure just who God was addressing. "Nothing. Not even me. But you know what?" Lucifer's warm wind died as pure heat filled the room. The air turned hazy from it like a black-top in the desert. "Perfection is over-rated. It's boring. Dull. Not the least bit interesting and," Sam was struck by the sudden thought. If Lucifer was a universe of power, Shawn was the source. He was the one who made it and, consequently, he was so much bigger.

Shawn smiled as he took his hands from his pockets. Blood dripped from them and he held Ruby's knife delicately. He had stabbed himself straight through the palms. "I think someone needs a timeout."

The symbols of Ruby's knife lit up like a thousand watt Christmas Tree.

* * *

They were running out of time. Mary Winchester nee Campbell had finally become accustomed to navigating the Heavens, but they were running out of time. She zipped herself forward and back, breathing the walls, and laid hands on the fifth seal. John was arriving in a sparkle of light and together they pulled at the statue.

It stretched, impossibly supple for marble, but finally came apart in their hands. All around them the Heavens flashed into turmoil. Power flowed out from the broken seal unhindered, searching for the one it belonged to, and together they grabbed at that river of energy and held on.

Other souls did the same, and they fought their way back into the World.

* * *

They were winning. Impossibly, they were winning. The Angels got their act together and came down blades flashing. Nothing survived an Angel blade.

The dead walked. Ghosts from all eras had shown up on the battlefield and protected those that needed it. They were dead, they did not tire, and they were insubstantial to nearly all beasts.

Dean hadn't been able to get in the chapel, he saw his mother in a white dress rake her nails across some hell-beasts face. He thought he was losing it. The hairs on his arms stood up in waring at the build up of power behind wooden doors. This was it. The calvary had come, but it was too late.

They were all going to die.

Huh.

Dean kicked an enraged maybe-woman in the stomach. The demons turned as one to the church and scrabbled toward it with what looked like panic, not even attempting to defend themselves. But that didn't need to with the angels pausing in their attack to also look at the church. They did not move toward the building but instead shuddered, wings becoming true physical presences for the first time.

They were huge, massive, all colors of the rainbow and glowing with inner holy light. Dean was so entranced by the beauty of them he didn't notice the cop tackle him from the side, angel wings spread as if to shield him, but he did notice the earthquake.

It was like Lucifer's rise all over again, but as the light broke through the roof of the old church it turned back around and flowed out. Power swept along, ripping everything in its path, as demons were forced from the bodies they animated and shredding anything not protected by celestial energy.

Dean swallowed, mouth dry as he pushed the angel away from him, staring at the now collapsed building that had housed his brother.

"SAMMY!"

End.

**A/N- One chapter to go, plus deleted scenes.**

**Oh, and that was Gabriel making movie based constructs to help fight.**


	36. In Conclusion

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack-Fic**

**Part Thirty Six - In Conclusion**

Silence reigned, or at least come verisimilitude of it. Dust filled the air as Dean struggled toward the mass of broken, half-rotted boards and crumbling brick that was once a place of worship. He swallowed convulsively. "Sammy! Sam?"

He ignored the people around him, ignored the angels moving from their protective crouches over the humans or the scoured earth that had been revealed in the wash of power. "Dean?" A voice coughed and beams shifted. Dean's heart leapt to his throat in relief as he caught sight of his banged up but alive brother.

Sam's shaggy head whipped around, there was a flutter of movement, and he stumbled backward over an overturned pew. Dean made a strangled noise in his throat and watched wary as a man shifted through rubble, dark eyes burning like coals. When he finally straightened he held a limp body in his arms.

"Micheal?" Someone called hesitantly. Hunters all over took deep, calming breaths. "Is that... is that really Father?"

The dark haired man said nothing, just cradled the still form to his chest as he climbed down the pile of destruction. "...yes."

"Hand him over, Micheal." A new voice spoke up, breathless but full of confidence. Dean instantly knew he did not like the voice, and turned with demon killing knife in his hand. It wouldn't work on the angel, if indeed it was an angel, but it was a comforting weight.

The speaker was tall, male, and had a long dark braid snaking down his back. He screamed well-to-do lawyer and the great big silver angel killer in his hand did nothing for anyone's confidence. Dean felt more than saw Castiel show up, looking confused, but took heart. Had the poor guy died and been brought back... again? They really needed to start getting frequent flyer miles for the river Styx or something.

"Raziel." Micheal the archangel called with a smile, though he still held God's body/vessel/what-ever-you-call-it to his chest protectively. "How nice of you make it."

"I was detained."

"I'm sure you were." Micheal bobbed his head to the side. "Even Gabriel made it, and he's missed every family function since the Fall."

The new dick of an angel ground his teeth, composed himself, and held out his blade free hand. "Give Father to me, Micheal. Please. We can free him." The silver edge of the knife glinted, and Dean felt his brother reach them, breathing heavily, while holding his side. The sun had just started coming up.

The sky looked like diluted blood.

Micheal was moving, but not toward the new guy. "I don't think so."

"He should not be caged to that body! We can get rid of it, free his spirit from this endless cycle of reincarnation, and he can come back to Heaven. He'll be with us again. Don't you want that?"

Dean heard Sam bite out with some shock, "Raziel, patron Angel of... Law Makers and Lawyers." Who wanted to kill God. Christ. Err...

With a rush of light and power Micheal stood before them, body humming with the heat, dried blood caked over his bare arms. He was staring at Castiel as if imparting very important knowledge to the lower seraph. Maybe he was. When Castiel held out his arms and the body was transferred Dean knew shit was about to go down.

Raziel sighed. "You know you can't beat me, Micheal. Not while you lack a proper vessel. You don't have the power."

"Nope." The General of Heaven said cheerily as Castiel inched away dragging Sam and Dean with him. Hunters were discretely leaving the field. "I don't. But you know what? " He paused dramatically and gestured all around. "I got a whole fucking army for that."

Recently sheathed blades were re-drawn, shining, from unseen holsters. Wings rippled. Just as Dean worried they were about to witness two archangels going at it the body in Castiel's arms let out a small, pain filled groan, and he, Sam, and Castiel were all in the Impala.

"Dean." Castiel spoke. "We need to go to the hospital." Dean hit the ignition and checked the rear view mirror. Blood was leaking from God's mouth. No way that was good.

They pealed off the side of the road just as the clouds let loose their payloads, rain falling like a shower of small pebbles.

* * *

Shawn was drifting in and out of consciousness. His body felt like it had been ripped apart, put through a wringer, and then glued back together with crazy tape. He hurt. All over. Thousands of voices were buzzing in his head calling for attention. Prayers.

Thousands and thousands and thousands of prayers. Of people. Maybe he should just let it all go... drift away...

"Father..." Someone was touching him. Warm and cold at the same time. Shawn swallowed and focused on that and the rain pounding the roof. It was real, solid, something to think about besides the pain and the death of the world. But the pain and death was okay. It was all part of life. It hurt but it got better.

Shawn really wished they could skip to the get better part. His hands felt like they had burst into flame, but it was the only way to keep his body and channel the power. Blood had to be spilled.

Someone was patting his hair, gentle waves of power rumbled over him. It was nice. For once, someone else could do the protecting, the planning, the grown-up stuff. Lucifer had offered but... no. Just no.

Shawn coughed. The hand stilled, uncertain, then resumed its motion. Was it worth it?

Shawn thought about all the lives he ever lived. How many times he was pushed, by circumstance or obligation, to be the dutiful one. The responsible son. It was nice to hand over the reigns just for a little bit, in this sweet ride, and let someone else make the decision. He could rest. For a bit.

Totally worth it.

Shawn slipped into full slumber, heedless of the battle taking place in the skies overhead.

* * *

Chief Karen Vick stared down the federal agents that were demanding entrance into Shawn Spencer's hospital room to, she assumed, abduct the man. While she wasn't sure what they wanted with the unconscious psychic, she was certain he wouldn't like it. Shawn was annoying at times, and tiring, but he always came through. He kept everyone in the station from turning into the kind of cops you read about in books: depressed, dead, or dirty.

And he had just managed, somehow, to get in contact with people she didn't even know to organize a mass sting operation combining state and local forces to take out some terrorist 'demon' group, he himself going against orders to take out the leader. From the preliminary data they were able to get from the hospital examiner whatever biological weapon the terrorists were planning would have been incredibly lethal and insanity inducing.

She wasn't even going to think about the group of Hunters that they had reinforced, it was galling to think that without Spencer's 'vision' the small civilian militia would have been the only ones aware of the national threat, or the unexplained phenomenon that was going on around the world.

Vick stood her ground against the big-wigs, planted herself firmly in their way, and ignored the way every eye in the area seemed to shift to her. "I don't care who you are, or who you work for. You come within TEN feet of MY psychic and I WILL personally turn you to swiss cheese."

She mentally grinned at the sound of guns moving from their holsters. Everyone was still jumpy and tense from the shoot-out. Lassiter had moved down the hall, closer to Spencer's room, and several of the militia shifted for their own weapons (she wasn't going to think how many state and federal laws each person was breaking).

Agent number one removed her sunglasses with a sigh. "Please, it is imperative that Mr. Spencer is brought in. He will receive the best treatment-"

Vick felt her lips twitch into a smile as a very audible *click* sounded in the room. One of the hunters, arms wrapped in bandages, had his pistol pointed expertly at the speaking agent. Another was whispering something to him but she couldn't make it out. Looked like the militia men didn't have any love for the feds.

"You are out of your jurisdiction." She spoke coolly, controlled. "I suggest you leave, and come back with the sheriff, or a cepina, because I think we beat you in the intimidation department."

It was childish, but it felt damn good to see the group of spooks leave. The applause coming from hunters, police, and hospital staff alike was just a bonus.

"Lassiter!" The detective holstered his gun and walked up. "Find a ride. We need to get Shawn back in Santa Barbara ASAP."

End.


	37. Deleted Scenes For Your Enjoyment

**Bouncing Around**

**A Psych/Supernatural Crossover Crack-Fic**

**Part Thirty Seven - Deleted Scenes For Your Enjoyment**

**'Meeting of the Minds'**

"You're God?" The gruff trucker like person asked in a sarcastic tone.

Shawn just stared at him, before his mouth quirked into a smirk and he pulled his hot chocolate closer. "What? Am I not sexy enough for you?" Behind him was a muffled snort of laughter as he sipped the liquid.

**'Hiring Policies'**

"We should expand." Shawn stated as he walked into the office. "We totally need it if we're going to keep up with all the free-lance work and consultings."

Gus looked up from his stack of paperwork. "That would help, yeah, but who could help? They'd have to be psychic or something."

"Not necessarily." Shawn danced over to the other man with a grin. "I know how much you hate doing paperwork and finances, so I was thinking..." He slammed a folder of resumes on the table. "...we hire ourselves an accountant! Think about it. If we can foist some of this stuff off on a grunt you'll be able to do more at your day job."

The thought was appealing. Shawn had mentioned helping out with accounting but he wasn't very reliable about daily chores in business but most of the time he forgot things like forms and contracts! How could they get paid a decent amount if the price charges weren't agreed upon? He reached for the thin folder.

"What kind of name is Castiel?" He asked while reviewing the admittedly sparse resume form. It looked as if Shawn had written up. "And why do you have 'Being Badass' as a skill option?" He slipped it in back to look at the next one. "So this one can work a computer. Some college... she's not too bad. She could probably help with records and run triage."

"Nah. I was thinking she'd be more of a PR person. You should see her hair!"

**'Better Than Nova'**

"Okay. This is officially the absolute most boring dream. Ever." Shawn groused as he swam through a murky gray ether. "If this is what drinking gets me, I'll stick with smoothies and soda." He didn't know how long he was sleeping, probably just a few seconds, but it felt like a long time. Too much time with nothing but boring gray washed out surroundings.

_Well then. If my subconscious has decided to go on strike I'll just have to encourage it. _Shawn raised his arms and adopted his James Earl Jones voice. "In the beginning..."

Lightning flashed throughout the ether. Shawn shivered and watched as the nothing seemed to swirl in on itself and harden. It was reforming, and with a thought Shawn dragged himself closer to the center of action. "Wow..." It was like he was watching the earth form. Magma spewed out of the ground, fell back in, and repeated the process. Water sprinkled down on the earth as gasses mixed and cooled the shifting lava. Mountains rose. Wind blew and grass spread at it's touch.

Animals crawled out of the mud, taking on distinctive shapes and colors as they spread across the globe.

Shawn watched it all, teleporting himself to various points, fascinated. There was so much detail! Maybe his mind was trying to make up for the long period of utter dullness at the start, because the level of clarity and trifle details he was seeing made the dream seem more like a memory. For a second he wondered at the feeling before filing it away in favor of watching two dinosaurs fight.

"Get him with your tail! Go for the femur! It's brittle!" The extinct creature, as if hearing him, immediately spun allowing it's mace-like tail to splinter the slower dinosaur's leg.

He was almost disappointed when he finally woke up up, now twenty-one and a day, on the floor of his motel room with a hangover and surrounded by chinese take-out and beer bottles.

**'Nomenclature'**

"So you beat Lucifer?"

"I smitted him." Shawn glanced at Gus. "Smitted? Smited? Smeeteed?"

"It's Smote. You smote him."

"That sounds nothing like smite..." He turned back to Sam. "But yeah. I smote Luci."

**'Office Politics'**

He doesn't do depressed. Can't. Never has been able to. Faced with certain death, he laughs and cries and the incredulity of it all. The gun is pointed in his face and he watches the eyes on the woman go black as she laughs. "Heard from a source you're the key to finding God." She cocks the hammer. "And we can't have that."

He grins in response because it's all so funny. Ironic. He reaches out with his senses and makes a quip about checking the local church, it is the man's house after all.

Shawn Spencer doesn't do depressed. When she tells him to die he laughs, assumes a serious expression, and answers her weapon with his own. "I would prefer not to." The bullet leaves the colt and makes for his heart and he watches it move through the air like a torpedo through water.

He walks out of the way, to the fridge, and retrieves a soda. The bullet continues on it's path and he knows that they'll have to order yet another window. Which in it's own way is pretty funny and he sits down to really look at the woman who had just threatened him.

The world is going to hell in a hand basket, but it doesn't bother him. He doesn't do depressed, broody, angsting, or guilt. He can't even muster up disgust when He see's the true, twisted, form of the demon in the poor girl's body. He made them both.

And when they say it's a face only a mother could love, that goes for fathers too.

The window cracks and the demon scowls, head spinning to focus back on him. Shawn sips at his drink. She takes aim again this time muttering a binding spell. He rolls his eyes.

He doesn't do depressed, but He can manage annoyed.

**'Healing Talks'**

Shawn picked at his bandages absently as Gus continued his nut-shelling rant. He looked up and tilted his head slightly. Taking advantage of a pause as Gus took a breath he asked, "Does this mean you'll go streaking with me, now?"

The other man's mouth fell open, shocked, before his train of thought jumped tracks. "No! I am not streaking with you, I am not streaking period. And even if I were, it would be with a beautiful, buxom, blonde."

And thus the issue of Shawn being 'responsible' was dropped.

**'Advice Column'**

"Dean." Castiel called as he appeared in the den of one Bobby Singer. Dean startled but quickly regained his composure, sliding a bookmark into his lore tome as he did so, and smiled at the angel.

"Hey Cas." Dean was looking better, Castiel noticed with no small amount of pleasure, once Armageddon was dealt with all it took was a monsters head on a stick and he was happy again. Content. Dean was truly a simple creature. "What's with the change of clothes? I was starting to think that monkey suit was a part of you."

Castiel did not understand the phrase and like many of Deans quips it flew right over his head to be ignored. "I was wondering if you might assist me on my current mission."

The eldest Winchester frowned. "This isn't world threatening, is it?"

"No." Castiel shifted. "I am to come up with a name for our new home."

"...what?"

"We have been terra-forming a small moon in another star-system."

"You're making a new planet?"

"Moon."

"And you want me to name it?" Dean asked in slight confusion. He sat back against the couch and stared at the angel to give his friend a closer inspection. The trench coat was familiar, if made of a heavier and darker material, but that was where the similarities ended. He wore a gray-blue outfit that looked like some kind of armor with a sword belted to his hip. Overall, it reminded Dean of the traditional 'warrior angel' look.

Castiel was silent, which Dean knew meant he was measuring his words carefully. "There is precedent."

"Oh?"

"God had Adam name all the creatures of the Earth." The angel answered promptly.

"Huh." Dean grinned. How many people got to name a moon? Like, really name it, make so that all who lived or visited it would call it by his design. Song lyrics and band names blew through his mind and warped. He chuckled and stood up. Castiel probably wouldn't get it, but Sam would. Sam would probably be pissed when he found out. "Dude. Oz. You should totally call it Oz."

Castiel tasted the word. "Oz." He gave a polite nod. "Thank you, Dean." His head tilted. "My sister is calling me, I must assist them in a battle."

Dean heard more than saw his friend leave and wondered just what was going on with the heavens. Who were they fighting? Did Cas need any help? _No. Stop right there Dean. They aren't fighting on Earth, that's something, and you should keep it that way._

_"_**Confirmation"**

It was a rumor going around the hunter circuit. God walked the earth, and had unleashed a holy ass kicking on Lucifer, thus averting the apocalypse. Some didn't believe the rumor or at least didn't believe that God did it. Some took it as a sign that what they fought for was worth it, that it wasn't a hopeless crusade. Some decided that since they were in the area they'd look into it. One of the rumors named names.

A trio of hunters, one of which had been resurrected along with several others that had died during the 'Winchester Fuck Up', sat in an old truck watching an office in California. Supposedly, it was an office for a physic detective. Supposedly, said detective was a Shawn Spencer that also happened to command the Hosts of Heaven.

A few polite inquires in local hangouts revealed that the general consensus among the natives was that Shawn Spencer was immature and nuts. But, they grudgingly admitted, he was very very good at his job, and his best friend/partner usually had enough good sense to keep things under control.

The hunters watched as a motorcyclist sped by their truck and hit the brakes, screeching to a halt before the building. As the cyclist -Spencer, the third hunter confirmed- took off his helmet and set on the handle a woman with long blonde hair held open the office door.

"No way." One of the hunters whispered. "She can't be..."

"Jake?"

"That woman. She was at the battle of Feildsburg. She was fighting the demons."

The hunters turned back to the office, belief slowly building. Perhaps there was some truth to those rumors after all.

_End._

**Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, and both. Thanks for coming with me on this adventure into ridiculousness, and if anyone would like to continue the adventures of God!Shawn, feel free. Just drop me a line because I would love to read about them.**

**-PM3**


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